Psycho
by Urchin of the Riding Stars
Summary: "I'll make them all disappear. One by one. I'll kill them all, for hurting my precious. Don't cry, love. I'm happy, too..." Mysterious disappearances. Gifts from no one. An obsessive shadow. Will Alfred be the next one to be taken away? Crazy!IvanxAlfred Rusame
1. The Disappearance of Arthur Kirkland

Psycho

"I'll make them all disappear. One by one. I'll kill them all, for hurting my precious. Don't cry, love. I'm happy, too..." Mysterious disappearances. Gifts from no one. An obsessive shadow. Will Alfred be the next one to be taken away? Crazy!IvanxAlfred Rusame

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**Hey, everyone. Really hoping you guys enjoy and review! Please?  
**

~*oOo*~

Chapter 1:

The Disappearance of Arthur Kirkland

(~*o0o*)~

It had been a rainy day in September when he had first come to school. He'd attracted curious glances and whispers almost immediately after setting foot in the gloomy old school building, and many students actually doubled back on their way to their lockers to get a better look at him.

The new student was very tall, even without his boots. Both his complexion and his hair were very fair—his skin looked like it had never seen the light of day, and had a curious pallor to it. His hair was silvery blonde, and betrayed Ivan's youthful skin. Some girls watched him pass out of the corner of their eyes, and immediately engaged in a giggling debate as to whether or not the boy dyed his hair such a funny color.

While the weather was fairly cool outside, Ivan was dressed as though bracing for a blizzard. He wore a long beige overcoat that went to his knees, and a powder-pink colored scarf was wrapped around his neck. His hands were clad in thick leather gloves, and he wore dark boots that had some heel, though they contributed very little to Ivan's height, much to the jealousy of the boys. He had a prominent nose, and soft, serene violet eyes that no one wanted to meet. People uneasily shifted away from the kind face, feeling strangely unsettled.

A look at his ID stated that his name was Ivan. It was too difficult to tell what his last name was, but he was certainly a stranger here, a stranger amongst teens who had grown up together in this sleepy hamlet.

He approached a locker, and started fiddling with the dial, but to no avail. The minutes ticked by on the clock, and several people hid amused smiles as Ivan obviously became more flustered. He set his books on the ground—they all looked thoroughly secondhand—and started struggling with the obstinate, rusty old lock, looking dismayed. No one offered to help him.

Two girls strode past Ivan, craning their necks so that they could gawk at him. One of the girls stepped on one of Ivan's textbooks and left a muddy footprint. If she'd noticed, she didn't apologize.

Ivan bit his lip and tried yet another new way to open his locker, only to fail once again. He glanced up at the nearby clock and returned to his work, looking frazzled and unhappy.

A young man nearby had been in animated conversation with a small gaggle of fellow students around him, one of which looked nearly identical to the chirpy ringleader who was animatedly telling them a story. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of an unfamiliar face, and the curious young man slowly trailed off with his storyline.

Bemusement appeared on Alfred F. Jones' face as he watched Ivan struggle, and pity followed it a second later. With a sigh, he gave his friends a "Well, what can you do?" sort of shrug before he crossed the hall towards the stranger. Alfred's friends uncertainly hung back from the duo, but the popular teen paid no mind as he approached.

"Hey. You new here?" He wasn't sure why he bothered asking; Alfred was fairly certain he knew every kid in this student.

Ivan fumbled with his papers, muttered something, and his ears turned dark pink. He looked up with a worried expression on his face, though the look gave way to relief when he saw Alfred. A friendly face.

"D-Da—ah! I m-mean yes. I am sorry. I…"

He trailed off, and Alfred's heart just about broke with sympathy. Geez, fuzzy kittens and wailing damsels in distress had nothing on this guy, who looked like an oversized child lost in the big city. Smiling his most winning grin, Alfred airily waved off Ivan's apology before bending down to scoop up Ivan's books.

"Nah, dude, it's all good. 'Da,' huh? Is that German? Or Russian?" His bright blue eyes flickered away to Ivan's locker. "Havin' some trouble with your locker? I can help ya if ya want. I have to fight with mine every mornin' because it's possessed by the devil, but my brother Mattie just says it's cause I'm a slob." He made a face and cheerily waved to his twin brother across the hallway, who slowly waved back, a nervous smile on his face. Ivan's height and bulky form made him look somewhat intimidating.

Ivan smiled timidly, looking slightly confused.

"Ah…yes. I mean, it is Russian, da. And I would like some help with my locker, if it is not too much trouble."

Alfred rolled his eyes and strolled over to the lock. "Pffff, no trouble. So, Russian, huh? The language of lovers, or something? You must get all the chicks. Nothing's sexier to girls than a big Russian dude, except when he has a fluffy cat and is plotting to take over the world."

"I…"

"See, you got to turn these damn things counterclockwise two times before they'll work," said Alfred patiently, twirling the dial. "Gave me a headache first day of school, lemme tell ya…anyhoodle, wanna try your combination number?"

Ivan tried. The lock popped open. Sighing in relief, Ivan put away some of his books and took off his heavy jacket. Alfred tried not to stare. The dude reminded him of a shaved cat without his coat, for some reason. All foofy looking with it, much thinner without. He kept his pink scarf wrapped around his neck, for some reason.

"I cannot thank you enough—"

"Nah! Like I said, it's all good, buddy." Alfred gave the new boy a friendly pat on the shoulder. "What year are you?"

The Russian smiled, his violet eyes twinkling slightly. "Senior."

"Awesome, me too!" Alfred crowed. "Oh, sorry to be so rude, my name's Alfred F Jones, but just call me Al. What's your name?"

"I-Ivan. Ivan Braginski."

"Neat! What's your first class?"

The awkward boy scrambled for his schedule. "Ah….World Literature…."

"Sweet!" exclaimed Alfred. "That's _my_ first class. I can show ya there if you like, and I can introduce you to my friend Francis, who's also in my class. Well, he's more buddies with my bro Matthew, but he's still a nice guy. You can poke me awake if I happen to fall asleep."

Ivan opened his mouth, closed it, and just smiled warmly, his face lighting up. _Mission accomplished_, crowed Alfred inwardly. He'd made the new kid feel welcome, done his good deed for the day.

"Da, that would be wonderful."

"Then let's go!" Alfred impatiently took hold of Ivan's sleeve and led him down the hall. The boy did not protest.

The bell rang, and the remaining students in the hallway hurried to the classrooms. Whistling, Alfred made his way towards room 1301, where Francis waited with a nervous smile upon his face. Ivan floated behind Alfred like a little duckling, face lit up with relief and joy.

That's all it began.

~*oOo*~

_A few days later…_

One warm and pleasant fall afternoon after school, Alfred had decided to retreat to the school's soccer field to shoot a few goals while Matthew was at hockey practice. For some weird reason, Ivan had somehow wound up drifting after him, waiting patiently on the bleachers as Alfred scurried around the field like a busy ant.

_'Doesn't he have anything better to do?'_ thought Alfred somewhat crossly as he scored a goal against an imaginary goalie, and Ivan burst into muffled applause from the other end of the stadium. _'The guy already follows me around the halls and to the freakin' bathroom; why can't he just leave me to practice by myself?'_

It was _weird_, having Ivan constantly stare at him—his neck kept prickling unpleasantly as he tried to concentrate on his game. He'd never minded playing in a crowded stadium alongside his teammates, but no one was _just_ looking at Alfred. Well, maybe his brother and his parents, yeah, but even they didn't look at him for very long. There was something always distracting them—a particularly good kick that sent the ball flying to the other side of the field, an injury, a scuffle between the teams—that was what Alfred loved about soccer. It wasn't boring, like golf that wasn't the miniature kind. Soccer kept you guessing, your eyes moving everywhere.

But Ivan just kept gazing at Alfred like a particularly large puppy, not reading or being distracted by anything. He just couldn't take his eyes off Alfred. It was getting disconcerting, and Alfred was tempted to ask Ivan to stop, but it sounded like a ridiculous and _mean_ request. He took out his frustrations on the ball, kicking it over and over again as if it owed him money.

As Alfred maneuvered around several invisible opponents—whom he decided were ninjas—he heard Ivan cheering for him. He snorted, but felt ashamed quickly afterwards.

Alfred learned that Ivan didn't just move into a new high school and a new town. He moved to a whole new freakin' _country_, with just his two sisters! Al wondered about to Ivan's parents, but judging by the tight smile that had appeared on the Russian's face, it was a touchy subject, so Alfred had let it go.

So what if he was lonely? He'd only been here for about a month now, and he didn't seem to be much of a social butterfly, and so as far as Alfred knew, he hadn't made very many friends. Maybe he'd never played soccer before, and just wanted to see what it was like. What did it matter? Having Ivan around was kind of like having the little brother he'd never had—a little brother who just happened to be a head or so taller than him.

Alfred changed directions, and raced towards the bleachers, not seeing how Ivan's eyes lit up. He slowed to a walk, huffing and puffing.

"So Alfred, you call your _futbol_ here….soccer?" Ivan asked, his pronunciation of 'soccer' sounding an awful lot like _sucker._

Absentmindedly kicking around the black and white ball, Alfred had laughed. "Yeah. Something like that. Dude, it sounds confusing when you guys call it that."

"Why?"

Alfred kicked the ball high into the air, and hurried forward to give it a good head-butting. "Well, we've got this sport called football already here in the states, and lemme tell ya, it's a far cry from what we call _soccer_."

Ivan watched Alfred give chase after the shadow of his fleeing soccer ball, soft purple eyes glowing serenely. He smiled.

"It _is _confusing. Everyone back home just calls it 'futbol.' I think makes more sense to call it that. You know, 'foot'….and 'ball'….?"

"Yeah, well nuts to you, buddy," mumbled Alfred, giving Ivan a good-natured slap on the back as he hurried by, desperately flailing to keep the ball in the air. "I don't even know what soccer means, but it's universally-_ow_!" The ball struck Alfred dead on in the nose and the young man's hands flew to his face, swearing under his breath as he removed his glasses, peering at them anxiously. "Geez, I better not have broken these or something….."

"Well, if you continue to play like that, I'd say you're in danger of knocking out what few brains you have left."

Alfred and Ivan's heads turned. Rolling Alfred's soccer ball lazily with his foot, a young man smirked at them, green eyes glittering mockingly. Alfred scowled, gritting his teeth.

"Buzz off, Arthur. This is a private party."

The one named Arthur smirked. "Ooooh, I'm so scared. What, you honestly think you're going to impress the coaches imitating star plays against nonexistent players? Oh, you'll bring us to state_ this_ year, Alfred."

Alfred's nails dug into his palms.

"Yeah, like you sitting around on the sidelines drinking tea and criticizing everyone last year was really helpful Arthur," he growled, advancing on Arthur. "Just gimme my ball back, okay?"

Arthur icily kicked the ball to the other side of the field.

"It's called _strategy_, Alfred, which you so appallingly lack. That's why I suggest you stay away from try-outs this year, and do us all a favor—"

"S-shut up!" Alfred snapped, blue eyes lighting up with anger. "Can't you take a clue and get lost? I'm sure you're late for your third-daily eyebrow waxing appointment-"

"Do you really need _Braginski _to come be your cheerleader?" drawled out Arthur, smile widening as he watched Alfred's hands turn into fists. "Well, I suppose you need all the help you can get, considering-"

"I think you will be leaving Alfred the alone," said Ivan firmly as he descended the steps. Arthur warily eyed him, sizing him up, and took two steps back. The teen laughed.

"_'I think you will be leaving Alfred the alone_,'" he sneered. "Maybe you wouldn't have to join this loser for the cheer squad tryouts if you ah, spent a little more time actually learning English….or losing weight…."

Ivan's face went red, but Alfred _saw_ red. He seized Arthur by the collar and shook him, ignoring Arthur even as the young Brit scratched at his arms in an effort to free himself.

"Yes, yes, hit me—hit me and get kicked out of school, you and your little immigrant freakwad, maybe you'll both get deported together—"

At that last comment, Alfred punched Arthur in the nose, landing a stunned Arthur wide-eyed on the grass. He certainly hadn't expected Alfred to actually _sock_ him.

Breathing heavily, Alfred cast the boy a disgusted look before he turned around, eyes cold.

"Pick on me all you want, you big fat jerk. But if I get kicked out for hitting you, you'll get kicked out for saying such horrible things to Ivan. That's a new low even for _you_."

Still scowling darkly, Alfred strode away, eyeing his soccer ball.

"C'mon, Ivan, let's blow this popsicle stand."

Ivan quietly followed, expression strangely buoyant as Arthur rubbed at his nose, now identical to Alfred's swollen one, and attempted to staunch the bleeding.

(~*o0o*)~

"Sorry about that," Alfred sighed, burying his nose in an icepack. "I didn't mean to get you caught up in anything."

"Do not worry about it, Милая. Is not your fault, da?"

Sitting side by side with Ivan on his front porch, Alfred vaguely wondered what 'mee-la-ya' meant. Probably the Russian equivalent for 'buddy.' Noticing that his ice cream was dripping, Alfred hastily lapped at the chocolate like a hungry little dog, missing Ivan's amused expression.

"He seemed like…quite the…." The Russian fumbled over his words. Alfred sighed again.

"Prick? Yeah. Arthur's been like that ever since we were kids." The blue-eyed boy grimaced. "We met when we were in kindergarten—I think I wanted him to play with me, but he just kept playing with his stuffed unicorns and called me a dummy."

Ivan started chuckling.

"Stuffed unicorns?"

Alfred laughed.

"Yeah. I'd totally use that to destroy him, but he still remembers when I had an imaginary alien friend named Tony," he said, leaning back and looking thoughtfully at the sun shining overhead. Ivan's breath hitched, and Alfred gave him a curious glance. "Hey, you okay?"

Ivan nodded robotically, just gazing at him. His abandoned ice cream was dripping all over his fingers. Did he have something on his face? Unsettled, Alfred teasingly commented, "Hey, dude, your ice cream…"

The tall boy started, blushed, and hastily started licking at his own fudgesicle. Alfred finished up his, and drew his knees to his chest, still sitting in the sunlight. The wind played with his hair, and the teen enjoyed the breeze for a moment.

"Anyway, I got tired of seeing Arthur sitting in a corner by himself, so one day, I grabbed one of his unicorns and ran into the playground. He ran after me of course, which was totally what I wanted, but I tripped and fell with the unicorn into a muddy puddle. You should have HEARD him holler. You would have thought he was being stabbed. I apologized like half a dozen times, but it took two teachers and a playground aide to finally get him off me. They put the unicorn through the wash, but it was ruined. After that, Arthur kinda became my Dr. Blofeld."

"Your what?"

"You haven't seen James Bond? Dude, we have _got_ to fix that. Anyhow, we became rivals in just about everything in elementary school. I kinda hoped we'd just ignore each other in high school, but he's just this awful little _slug_." Alfred swore quietly.

"'Slug' is a good word for the bad little boy," Ivan said thoughtfully. "Thirteen years is a long time to hold a grudge. Someone ought to do something about it."

Alfred stretched absentmindedly.

"Yeah, right? But there's nothing we can do. I've punched that kid God knows how many times and he's broken my glasses God knows how many times, but nothing ever changes. The teachers tried putting our desks together in third grade in an attempt to make us learn to get along, but that only lasted one day. An hour, actually."

"What happened?"

"Let's just say it involved paint, pink hair, a moldy tuna sandwich about four weeks old, and our classroom getting evacuated," said Alfred sadly. "But I can't believe that little crap _said_ those things about you! Uggh, the next time I see him, I swear I'm gonna-"

"Do not be the worrying of it, please," soothed Ivan, patting Alfred on the shoulder. Then, he suddenly looked worried himself.

"Alfred, am I a bother to you?" he asked timidly, twiddling his pale fingertips.

The teen sent the Russian a startled look.

"What? Why-oh, c'mon dude, don't let Arthur get you down. He's totally just a bogus shithead; he'll say anything if he thinks it'll make him feel better about himself."

Ivan still looked unhappy, so Alfred squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "C'mon, buddy, cheer up. You're my friend. I wouldn't hang out with you if I thought you were a real pain."

Ivan's expression brightened considerably, as if he were a dying man given a second chance at life.

"What? I am…we are….friends?"

"'Course," replied Alfred cheerfully. "Isn't it obvious, you big lug?"

As cautious as though approaching a butterfly, Ivan's hand slowly landed on Alfred's hand on his shoulder, lightly keeping it there. He seemed radiant. Alfred smiled encouragingly.

"And you're not fat; you're just tall. But I tell you what: Next week when the soccer trials start, I say I'll be ready to kick ass, take names, and wipe the smirk off of Arthur's mug!" Alfred hopped to his feet, extending a hand to Ivan. "Wanna help me practice? I can teach you the rules if you like."

Ivan took Alfred's hand as if accepting a Faberge egg, smiling broadly.

"Da, what a question. It have been many years since I play, but I do remember the rules. Perhaps I will try out for team too, da?"

Alfred enthusiastically agreed, although privately he didn't think Ivan had much of a chance if the guy hadn't played for years. Still, he was too lit up by the fires of determination and the idea of watching Arthur wilt like a balloon to care, or to notice how happy Ivan was with the prospect of being with Alfred every day after school.

(~*o0o*)~

Ivan turned out to be a beast on the soccer field. If this was how the dude played after allegedly not playing for years on end, Alfred could only guess how the professional Russian athletes played.

For being so tall and awkward-looking, Ivan was very fast and light on his feet, and it was all Alfred could do to keep up. He could easily send a ball flying to the other side of the soccer field with a moderate kick, and his plays weren't shabby. His size made him an excellent candidate for a goalie, and Alfred only once succeeded in getting the ball past him. His stubborn pride refused to accept the idea that Ivan had only _let_ the teen get that one in.

Days later, both Ivan and Alfred made it onto the school's soccer team. Arthur Kirkland's face had looked like a melted snowman's when everyone read the posted results, green eyes ablaze with indignity.

"I'll see to it that both of you slimy gits are off the team before the first game," he hissed warningly to them both as he swept down the hall. "I swear it."

Alfred only gave him the finger, and wickedly laughed with glee as he and Ivan high-fived. Ivan was giving Arthur a very ugly look, but it soon melted to laughter when Alfred started doing a dramatic victory dance in the hallway. They got more ice cream to celebrate.

(~*o0o*)~

"Hey, Braginski, Jones, Kirkland! You're up!"

The boys stood up from the bench, Arthur smirking, Alfred scowling, Ivan smiling. The boys were in their ninth practice, and their first game of the season was tomorrow. Alfred was looking forward to rubbing it in Arthur's face when they celebrated their first win of the season—with both boys still on the team.

True to form, Arthur had done his absolute best to make their lives miserable whilst on the team. When coach wasn't looking, Arthur kicked at their shins, deliberately shoved them while rushing after the ball, and mouthed nasty names in the halls, though the latter wasn't exactly new.

"I think we need to exterminate this insect, yes?" Ivan asked Alfred as he headed towards the goal. While coach worked with other team members, the boys were to split in groups and practice drills.

Alfred laughed as he ran out to midfield to meet Arthur and the ball. "Yeah, that'd be great! Let's do it!"

Arthur smirked as he kicked the ball towards Ivan, only to have Alfred give chase and whack it straight back with a good headbutt. Arthur only kicked it back harder, and soon both boys were desperately chasing after it. But for some strange reason, Arthur started making kissing noises when they started grappling.

"Missing your big, bad, Russki bodyguard?" he asked hotly as a distracted Alfred blindly kicked out and missed the ball by inches. "I can understand why coach put you on defense…you two are inseparable. Tell me, did you marry him so that he could get a green card?"

Alfred scowled furiously and hastily swept the ball away from Arthur, heading towards the opposite goal. "Get bent!"

Gritting his teeth, Arthur retaliated by kicking the ball back to midfield, and the two began to scuffle over possession of the ball once again. Just when it seemed Alfred had reclaimed the ball, Arthur raised his foot, and kicked Alfred as hard as he could in the ankle.

A sickening _crack_ rang out through the air, like a gunshot, and Alfred crumpled to the ground with a cry of pain. Eyes widening in horror, Ivan immediately sprinted away from his post to the field, leading Arthur free to kick in the ball to the now empty goal.

The coach's whistle sounded, and the team scurried out to meet Ivan, who was already kneeling beside Alfred, posing anxious question after another. A surly Arthur drifted up behind them, looking torn between guilt and contempt.

"Oh, get up already. I hardly even grazed you."

The look Ivan sent in Arthur's direction would have wilted a field full of daisies. Arthur shrank back as Ivan turned his attention back to Alfred, who was still clutching his ankle, gritting his teeth and hissing softly.

"I-I'm fine," Alfred panted, dazed blue eyes meeting the fretful violet orbs hovering above him. "But I dunno if…_accck_, coach, that hurts!"

The man had bent over Alfred and was carefully feeling the injured limb, which was now beginning to swell considerably. Soon enough, it would be sporting brilliant purple bruises.

"Not broken," he muttered calmly as he drew back, not looking happy. "But that's one hell of a bad sprain. Kirkland, take Jones to the nurse's office. We're gonna want to get some ice on that puppy quick."

Both Alfred and Arthur's eyes widened with dread; luckily, Ivan stepped in.

"I will be taking him," said the Russian sweetly, voice clear that this was not open for discussion. The coach shrugged, not caring.

"Fine. Braginski, take him to the nurse and stay with him till she can get him fitted up for a crutch. Jones, I'm really sorry, but it doesn't look like you'll be able to play in tomorrow's match."

Horrified, Alfred sat up, and immediately attempted to stand. He didn't get very far; as soon as he tried to move his foot, he hissed in pain, and Ivan gently but firmly pushed him back down into the grass.

"W-what? I thought you said it was only twisted! I can totally play tomorrow! Coach, I gotta participate in all the matches I can if I want to get the scholarship!"

Coach cast him a pitying look, but he only shook his head _no_. "I doubt you'll be fit to, son. We'll take a look at it tomorrow, but I think it'd be a miracle if you could manage to walk on that thing, let alone run."

"Then Arthur should not be allowed to play either!" said Ivan fiercely, pointing in Arthur's direction accusingly. "He kicked Alfred on purpose to get ball back. That is dangerous play—he should be penalized."

"I did not!" protested Arthur. "I did no such thing. I tried to kick the ball. I kicked Alfred's foot by mistake, he slipped, and _then _he sprained his foot."

"Dude, I saw you freaking _raise up your foot_ and you kicked me!" exclaimed Alfred angrily, still rubbing his aching ankle.

"Boys," said the coach wearily, raising his hands. "I was too busy working with Antonio and Romano on a drill to see who did what. People _get hurt_ in soccer-it's just how the game works. But I'm sure Kirkland didn't mean to hurt his _own teammate_."

The dismayed look on Arthur's face turned into smugness. Alfred would have kicked him if his foot were not hurting so badly. Hands still tight on Alfred's shoulders, Ivan's once angry face was now strangely composed, though something certainly looked _off_ in his eyes as he gazed at Arthur. Alfred shivered slightly, but he did not know why.

(~*o0o*)~

At least there weren't very many people hanging out after school to see this, else Alfred would have hid his head in the ground like an ostrich for the next hundred years or so. Wincing as he tried again to put weight on his foot, he was forced to lean against Ivan, whose arms were wrapped around him tightly as Alfred awkwardly bunny-hopped down the halls.

"I could always carry you, you know," said Ivan mildly. Judging by his expression, he seemed to be enjoying himself way too much. Alfred sent him an affronted look.

"Yeah? In your dreams, buddy. This might take a little longer, but at least I can maintain some dignity."

"Da, you're right, it does take longer," agreed Ivan, caressing Alfred's back. The boy shivered, and started to hop faster, squawking when he slipped, only to be steadied by Ivan. He wished the other boy would stop trying to physically comfort him. It felt weird.

"I don't_ believe_ Arthur!" Alfred howled in frustration as they approached the nurse's office. "I'm gonna need a pair of crutches and everything….now I don't even get to play tomorrow! Stupid bastard's probably laughing it up right now!"

"He will not be tomorrow, when the team loses," said Ivan firmly as he led Alfred inside, a nurse rising from her desk to meet them. "When you and I are not there."

Alfred gave the boy a surprised look as Ivan tenderly sat him on the examining table. The nurse hurried off to fetch some ice. "Dude, what do you mean? I probably can't play, but you-"

"I will not play out of protest. If you cannot play, neither should Kirkland."

Alfred smiled, partly out of exasperation and the sweetness of the intent. "That's really nice of you buddy, but that's just giving him what he wants. 'By the first game…' blech. At least one of us should be there to prove him wrong."

Alfred's breath hitched as Ivan leaned towards him with a pensive frown, leaning his forehead against his. "I would much rather be hanging out with you, Alfred. You are whole reason I joined soccer team. It is good to be with you."

Alfred leaned back, swallowing heavily. Suddenly, the room felt incredibly hot. He wished the nurse would hurry back with the ice, and not just because his ankle was throbbing with pain.

Ivan was being borderline creepy, but Alfred nervously patted Ivan's shoulders and forced himself to laugh, not looking at Ivan's intense gaze. Okay, so the guy was being a little weird. So he was a little clingy because he hadn't made many friends yet. That would change.

"Well….I just hope you enjoy it. Enjoy it enough to give Arthur a taste of his own medicine when you make the other team cry," he said cockily, relieved when Ivan smiled, tension broken.

"If you insist."

(~*o0o*)~

Two days later, Alfred was still gingerly getting around school with crutches while Ivan trailed around him more than ever, carrying his books.

Unfortunately, despite Ivan's fantastic play, the team still lost. Kirkland could be heard raging in the showers over it. The thought didn't make Alfred feel much better as the final bell of the day rang, and Ivan followed him once again to his locker.

Okay, forget little brother. Ivan was like a little puppy that trotted at his heels. The mental image was almost too weird for Alfred.

"So, what are you doing this weekend?" asked Alfred, hoping Ivan wouldn't insist on hanging out with him again. Much as he liked the Russian, he was really hoping for a bit of alone time with Matthew.

Ivan smiled faintly.

"I? I have….let me see, what do you call it? I have cleaning that is meant to be done at springtime."

Alfred blinked. "Spring Cleaning? Dude, it's September."

Ivan shrugged. "Well, I have to tidy up, nevertheless. Will be spending most of weekend taking out garbage."

Alfred winced in sympathy. "Aww, your sisters are making you clean over the weekend? Lame. I guess I've forgotten how much of a pain moving can be. Do you want any help?"

"_No_!" the answer was so sharp that Alfred stopped in his tracks and turned to give his friend a bewildered look. Ivan hastily retreated.

"I-I mean, it will be very b-boring," he said gently, wringing his hands anxiously. "I may have put the work off for far too long, but that is no reason to ruin your weekend. My sister Natalia will help me if the workload is a bit much."

"Dude, sounds like you're cleaning up an entire dump. You sure you don't need any help?"

Ivan chuckled softly as they resumed walking, and headed to the parking lot. "That is kind of you to offer, Alfred, but there is much filth to dispose of, and I'd be much less embarrassed to do it by myself."

Alfred snickered as they approached Ivan's minivan. Normally, Alfred just rode his bicycle home while his brother took the car so that he could drive to hockey practice, but Ivan had insisted on driving Alfred home these past few days.

"Messy room, huh? Hey, if it makes you feel any better, Mattie once put a '_Warning, biohazard'_ sign on my door when it got trashed enough."

Ivan held the door open for him, carefully lifting the young blonde inside as carefully as though he were made of glass. Alfred snorted.

"Dude, it's just a freaking sprain. No need to treat me like an invalid."

"Mmm." But Ivan still felt the need to buckle Alfred in, though the teen good-naturedly batted at him.

Alfred leaned back in his seat as Ivan began to pull out from the parking lot, day-dreaming about Matthew's hockey game this weekend. It'd been too long since the brothers had been able to hang out on their own.

Yep, he was definitely glad that he would be alone with Matthew this weekend. Ivan spoiled him rotten, which was nice, but the tips of his ears were beginning to burn. The burning by no means lessened when Ivan pulled into Alfred's favorite fast-food drive-thru, and insisted on buying him lunch.

(~*o0o*)~

The weekend passed quietly. Alfred attended Matthew's game on Saturday. Thankfully, the home team had won, so they all went out for ice cream to celebrate, and the twins had spent most of Sunday simply lazing around. All too soon, Monday came. Ivan was waiting for Alfred by his locker as he always did, and insisted on carrying Alfred's books again, despite Alfred's insistence that he was fine. His foot was still tender, but he no longer needed a crutch to get around.

"Did you clean up that mess of yours?" Alfred asked on the way to Geology. Ivan smiled. There were some dark shadows underneath his purple eyes.

"Da. It took long enough, but it is done."

A painful-looking scratch caught Alfred's attention, and he glanced at Ivan's arms. His eyes widened, and he stumbled.

"_Dude_. What happened to you? Are you okay?"

Ivan's arms were littered with scratch marks, but the teen looked unconcerned. "D-da. Just fine. I had to give my cat a bath, is all. He loves playing in mud puddles, but he is not so….excited when it comes to cleaning up afterwards. He put up quite a struggle."

Alfred's eyes shone with relief and humor. "Oh, dude, I have ever told you about the time our cat Franklin ran into a skunk?"

It was a normal day, pardoning the fact that Arthur Kirkland did not show up to school, or to practice. It would have been perfectly normal for any student—_any_ student—but Arthur, who had been given a trophy for never once missing a day of school in nearly twelve years by the mayor (and was perfectly happy to let you know it, of course), would probably be more willing to gnaw off an arm then to ruin his record.

He was probably home sick. Alfred hoped he was _really_ sick, with a tummy ache and a sore throat and everything. Served the jerk right. It was nice having a day where he didn't have to meet Arthur's glowers in the halls, or worry about his enemy putting 'kick me' signs on him (not that Ivan wasn't good at noticing and removing them anyhow).

"Maybe he's got the flu or something," he commented to Ivan at soccer practice, carefully toeing the soccer ball around. "I really hope so; maybe we can go to our game at Brighton on Thursday and not have to listen to Arthur whine all the time about our plays."

"Da, would be nice," Ivan agreed, moving to the goal. "I think there is good chance we will not have to worry about that this time."

~(*o0o*)~

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday passed, and Arthur still did not show up. Alfred wondered if Arthur had actually switched schools, though that seemed extremely unlikely. Was probably just pretty sick, or milking the attention his parents were undoubtedly lavishing on him at home. Ivan agreed with him.

On Friday, however, Alfred's lovely Arthur-free week was shattered when their homeroom teacher came forward with an announcement. She looked upset.

"The police have asked me to inform you, on request of Mr. and Mrs. Kirkland, that your classmate Arthur Kirkland has gone missing," she said, pausing as students began to murmur amongst themselves. "His parents are extremely worried, and urge you to come forward if you have any information pertaining to their son's whereabouts."

Alfred just sat in his seat, his mind a blank. If under any other circumstances, Arthur's prolonged absence would have made him jump for joy. Now, he was just confused.

"What do you mean, 'missing?'" he asked, bewildered. The teacher rolled her eyes.

"Just as I have said. Missing. On Friday evening, Arthur went out to meet a group of friends of his—"

Ivan scrawled Alfred a quick note beside him. _He has friends?_

Alfred nearly smirked, but the urge vanished as the teacher continued. "—and he never came home. His friends claim that he never showed up to their meeting. His parents have been tearing the town apart, looking for him."

Silence. Students cast each other unnerved glances. Alfred looked down in his seat and frowned, chewing on his pencil.

He didn't like Kirkland. Well, to be perfectly honest, he _hated_ Kirkland, but that didn't mean he wanted anything seriously bad to happen to him! Arthur seemed the type to criticize people for reckless behavior rather than to do it himself, but he was probably just fine. He'd show up on Monday with some crazy, blown-up story so that he could get attention.

But the tension was so thick in the room you could cut it with a knife. No one knew what to say, or what to think. Girls looked worried. Boys looked troubled. The only one whom seemed immune to the spell was Ivan Braginski, who was idly doodling a sunflower on the corner of his notebook, humming slightly to himself.

~*oOo*~

Arthur did not show up Monday morning.

Or the next Monday.

Or the one after that.

For weeks, the school buzzed like an overturned beehive with rumors of Arthur's whereabouts. He had become tired of the pressures his parents had put on him, and had run away. He had been kidnapped. He had been involved with some sort of satanic cult that had eaten him. He had run off to Las Vegas to marry a girl he met online.

As September passed into October and red, gold, and brown leaves began to tumble from the trees, the soccer season slowly dwindled to its end. While the team did not make it to the final four, they were satisfied with their inter-state eight ranking, which would surely help them next year. _'Not that I'll be there, of course,_' Alfred realized at their last game, a bit wistfully. Spend three years wishing for Senior year to come, spend all Senior year wishing that it wouldn't end.

Alfred and Ivan never spoke about Arthur, even as the gossip turned away from the speculation of Arthur's disappearance to the whereabouts of where his body might be. Mrs. Kirkland was said to be sick with grief, weeping helplessly in Mr. Kirkland's arms every night.

The idea made Alfred queasy, and every once in awhile, kept him staring at the ceiling of his bedroom late at night. If this was some kind of publicity stunt, it had gone way too far, even for Arthur. There was no reason he'd allow his grades, his soccer, his _everything_ just tumble away into nothing; Arthur was too much of a control freak to allow that to happen.

What had happened to his long-time rival?

Right before Halloween night, Alfred and his buddies were busy carving pumpkins into jack-o-lanterns. Alfred had invited Ivan, as he rightfully suspected the teen would not be invited otherwise. Ivan had sidled close up to Alfred on the sea of newspaper, and the two began to chat while their hands awkwardly attempted to cut out shapes.

"I just hope the guy's okay," Alfred confessed, smiling as he carved out a crooked smile from his pumpkin. "Awww, look, my pumpkin's a hero! All he's missing is a cape. But back to Arthur," he said quickly, scrunching up his nose as he removed a squishy handful of pumpkin innards. "Ewww….pumpkin guts."

Ivan had laughed.

"I think my pumpkin looks more like a goblin, to be honest. All big ears and big nose, da? I hope he and Hero Pumpkin don't do battle with each other."

"Nah, Hero Pumpkin likes Goblin Pumpkin," announced Alfred, setting the little grinning pumpkin on top of Ivan's rather large one. "They're buds, so long as Goblin Pumpkin isn't a bad guy. But back to Arthur—"

"I am sure he is fine, wherever he is."

Alfred's big smile dissolved into a slightly worried one.

"But what if he's not actually pulling anything?" he asked anxiously, watching Ivan stab his pumpkin with more force than was strictly necessary. "What if he's seriously hurt somewhere? I've been over it again and again in my head, but I just don't know of anywhere he might be that the police haven't already checked."

"I would not be the worrier of it, Alfred," said Ivan gently, teasingly rubbing his pumpkin-gut covered fingertip over Alfred's cheek, making the teen squeak and flip pumpkin innards back at him. "As my elder sister would say, worrying accomplishes nothing. Trust that the police know what they are doing, and that Arthur will be found safe and sound. Although," he added dryly. "That might not be a good thing for us."

Alfred smiled half-heartedly.

"It'd be a good thing for his parents. That's their only kid. I'm sure it must hurt."

"Da," said Ivan sadly. "If only he were not such a…such a….what's the word you use? Douchebag? He might have been found by now. He might be safe and sound at home."

"…I guess," said Alfred uncertainly, still not looking very happy. "Although I kind of wish it wasn't like that. Arthur might be a jerk, but if he's in trouble…."

"What goes around comes around," said Ivan firmly, tenderly removing Hero Pumpkin so that he could resume pulling out messy globs of pumpkin seed. "Arthur is like rat, and according to you and others, has been like rat for years. He had no right to hurt you. Anything would be too good for him."

Alfred raised an eyebrow as Ivan dropped heavy fistfuls of pumpkin guts onto the newspaper, large hand always dipping back into the gourd for more.

"It was just a sprain."

"That could have cost you your scholarship." Ivan's voice was beginning to rise, and the pleasant smile normally on his features was fixed by the strange look in his purple eyes. Alfred swallowed.

"Well, yeah….but…"

"What if he had broken something, **Единственная****?" **Ivan asked softly. Alfred was about to ask what 'yedinstvinaya-whatever' meant, but was distracted as Ivan kept talking. "You might not have been able to play all season. As it was, you kept playing even when your ankle swelled up and turned purple again. I worry. I worry a lot. You are my good friend, Alfred, and I would have been very sad if you hurt yourself."

Ears burning again, and a hint of blush warming his face, Alfred wiped his hands on his pants and sighed. "Okay, time for a hug, buddy. Uh, no homo, though."

Alfred pulled Ivan into a one-armed embrace, grinning as the girls around him cooed and giggled. "Aww, c'mon ladies, it's just a rad bromance thing. Ivan, no worries. Everything turned out fine."

Ivan's arms were around him in an instant, hastily scrubbing his gooey hands on his shirt before patting Alfred's back gently. "I am very happy for that, _Lapushka_. I am very happy I met you this year. You are wonderful."

"Geez, yer makin' me blush," muttered Alfred, feeling that the hug had gone on for too long, and released Ivan. But Ivan made no move to stop squeezing Alfred, like a child with a teddy bear or a new puppy they can't bear to let go of. It was getting a little uncomfortable, actually. "You're a rad friend, dude. I'm really glad you're here. Wouldn't be the same without ya. Um, do you think you could…?"

Ivan quickly drew back as if he'd been burned, blushing rosily. But his eyes were sparkling.

"What? Do you mean that, lapushka? Do you really?"

"'Course," replied Alfred, looking away and coloring more. Why had the room suddenly turned so hot? "So…yeah." He gently extracted himself from Ivan's arms, telling himself to '_stop being silly_' when they momentarily tightened around him. "Hey, what does 'lapushka' mean?"

Ivan blinked, as if coming out of some stupor.

"Mmm? Ah, well, I-"

"Is it like 'buddy?'" asked a young Japanese friend of Alfred's named Kiku shrewdly. Ivan nodded gratefully.

"D-da. It is like the equivalent of…'pal,' 'friend,' or…um….'bro,'" he said quickly.

"Really? Cool!" exclaimed Alfred. "So I can call you 'lapushka' if I want, buddy?"

Ivan could not stop smiling.

"Da. I should like that a lot. But 'Vanya' would be nice, too."

~*oOo*~

The next morning, Alfred woke up earlier than usual (his brother mock-fainted when he saw him, so Alfred playfully swiped at his head), and actually beat Mattie to the shower for a change. While he was drying his hair with a towel, he glanced outside the window and choked.

There, in the driveway, was Ivan's car, two hours early. He could faintly make out Ivan's shape on the driver's side, and, upon seeing a light appear in Alfred's window, looked up and noticed Alfred gawking at him in nothing but a towel around his head and one around his waist. He waved. Upon regaining feeling in his right hand, Alfred waved back, more bewildered than anything else.

Then, he remembered he was virtually naked. Squeaking, and flushing rosily, he immediately beat it from his window to grab some clothes from his drawers, completely befuddled.

Slightly confused herself, the gentle Mrs. Jones was all too happy to let Ivan in shortly afterwards, inviting him to stay for breakfast. Shortly afterward, the rest of the Jones trooped around the breakfast table, although Alfred and Matthew looked slightly confused. Ivan just kept smiling serenely, as content as a cat in a patch of sunlight.

Mr. Jones, who once had been stationed in Russia during his army days, had a lot of questions for Ivan concerning the current climate and government. Mrs. Jones was charmed by Ivan's manners, and teasingly chided her boys for not following Ivan's example. Alfred was still somewhat at a loss for words, particularly since Ivan was sitting so _close_ to him.

Ivan offered to drive both twins to school shortly afterwards, though they were much earlier than usual. Once Mattie had said his goodbyes and had drifted off to find his friends, Alfred headed to his locker, slightly unnerved by the fact that Ivan was following him yet again.

"Ya really are an early bird today, aren't you?" he asked casually as he struggled to get his damn locker open, the way he did every morning. He knew it would be easier if he just cleaned the stupid thing, but there was never any time, and why would he bother when he'd just clean it out at the end of school, anyhow?

"Early bird?" asked Ivan innocently.

"You know what I mean. N-not that I mind, of course," said Alfred quickly. "I just think you'd get bored stupid waiting in a car for two hours." Ivan shrugged.

"I do not mind. This morning, I woke up very early and could not go back to sleep. Was bored. Decided to wait until time to go, though was not aware of how early it was. Took book. Sorry to be bother."

Alfred's shoulders relaxed somewhat. Funny, he hadn't noticed that they were so tense. "Nah, don't worry, bud. Everyone gets those kind of mornings. Bad dream last night?"

"I would not call them _bad_ dreams," said Ivan cheerfully as Alfred struggled with the lock. "Was just restless, is all." He wrapped an arm around Alfred's shoulders, and the boy smiled wanly, stepping away.

"R-right. Just try to get some sleep tonight, okay, la…lapushka?" Alfred finished clumsily. Ivan laughed merrily.

"Da. Thanks. You need help?"

"Nah, it's all good. Just stand back a sec."

Alfred tugged on the handle as hard as he could, cussed, and tried again. To his relief, the thing at last opened, and Alfred prepared himself for the avalanche of stuff that came flying out at him every morning.

But today was different. A little blue pouch tumbled out from the pile of haphazardly stacked books. Alfred caught it by reflex, surprised.

"Hey, what's this?"

Ivan shrugged. Curious, Alfred undid the little ribbon, summer blue eyes widening as he noticed there was a small heart on the clasp. He peered inside the bag, and a large smile fell across his face. "Dude! Someone totally sent me a bag of candy! That's so awesome!"

Alfred took out a colorfully-wrapped candy and turned it around appreciatively. "Oooh, honey chocolate! This person's got good taste, if I may say so myself."

Ivan smiled, looking relatively unfazed. "That is nice. But is there note?"

Alfred peeked inside again, and noticed a small scrap of paper. Extremely curious, he immediately seized it and unfolded it, Ivan approaching to read it over his shoulder.

"'_Sweets for the sweet_,'" Alfred read, turning the paper to see if there was more. There was not. "Awww. That's just real, real swell of whoever did this!"

Alfred wanted to jump up and down and giggle, and probably would have done so had Ivan not been there. He had an admirer. A girl—very possibly a pretty girl—was interested in him! This was awesome. No, this went beyond awesome. This was _awesomic_.

"Dude, I can't wait to show Mattie! He'll never believe it!" Alfred crowed. "I wonder who sent it? Man, I hope it was Lili. Or Emily. Or ooh! Maybe Elizabeta! I know it probably isn't, because she likes Roderich, but still…."

Ivan smiled as Alfred babbled away, saying nothing.

(~*o0o*)~

The next morning, Alfred engaged in his daily battle with his locker, hoping that his admirer had left him a note of some kind. He was not disappointed; a strange parcel came sliding out at him when the contents of his locker began to follow. He caught it out of reflex, slightly confused.

A bouquet. A bouquet of paper flowers. That was….well, no one had ever given him flowers before. Whoever this girl was, she definitely wasn't kosher.

Alfred heard Ivan's steps behind him but ignored him; he'd found the note, and had eagerly dug it out from the yellow and black tissue flowers. _Sunflowers….?_

He read the card and went scarlet, knees trembling like gelatin. He swallowed heavily and turned to the Russian, blushing deeply. Without a word, he handed over the card to Ivan, who read aloud:

_"My affections will expire when these flowers do."_

Alfred laughed, sounding amazed. "Wow. Uh…looks like this person is playing for keeps, huh?"

"I'd say that's very likely."

* * *

**-To be continued**

**Next chapter: Mr. Yao Takes An Extended Vacation  
**

**That doesn't sound scary at all...:(  
**


	2. Mr Yao Takes An Extended Vacation, Pt 1

Chapter Two:

Mr. Yao Takes An Extended Vacation, Pt 1

~(*o0o*)~

**Hello, loves. I hope you guys are still interested in this story….sorry I didn't update earlier. Unfortunately, I lost six or so pages of this chapter earlier when my computer died on me, so I got discouraged. :'( But I like this story and hope you do, too! **

**This chapter is a bit short; I want to see how many people are still interested. Reviews will make a happy authoress. **

~(*o0o*)~

_Luring Kirkland into his car had been easier than he'd thought it'd be. Certainly Arthur had sneered at him, mocked him as was his wont, but Ivan had played the naïve idiot very well, praising the snob's superior soccer skills and asking for pointers. After sufficiently stroking the Brit's ego, Ivan had convinced Arthur to accept a ride to the bookstore. _

_Arthur never saw the needle coming. He'd thrashed in Ivan's arms like a captive fly as the drugs raced through his system, biting the hand Ivan had plastered over his mouth, helplessly clawing the Russian's arms raw. But in a matter of seconds, the anesthetic took its effect, and the writhing Brit's eyes rolled back into his head. Humming slightly, Ivan had set him back against the passenger seat, and drove the minivan to a dark, trash-strewn alley before parking, dragging out Kirkland's body, his head bobbing like a dumb puppet's. _

_Like a spider, Ivan had tenderly trussed up Arthur in plastic wrap and duct tape before tossing him unceremoniously in the trunk. Feeling Alfred's nemesis limp and powerless underneath his hands was certainly satisfying, and he'd felt the almost unbearable urge to stab him then and there, his switchblade cutting through warm flesh and blood as easily as it would through tissue paper. _

_But knives weren't his forte, really. He lovingly fingered the faucet pipe covered with rust and blood that was obediently waiting beside Arthur's motionless body, a memento from his first murder. _

_No, it would be so much more satisfying to watch Arthur squirm like a helpless insect, to hear him scream and beg for his life. He'd break his ankle before he descended on him however, payback for his little darling. _

_Grinning hugely, Ivan got back in the car, gunned the accelerator and zoomed to the interstate, his taillights flashing red in his wake. The Russian turned up the radio, absentmindedly searching for his favorite classical station. He typically preferred Tchaikovsky when it was time for death, though he supposed Bach would do in a trice. _

~(*o0o*)~

"I don't like this."

Alfred rolled his eyes and cheerfully shoved a few more fries in his mouth. "Jusumvaltinz, bo."

"What did you say? I don't speak caveman."

Alfred rolled his eyes once again, swallowed with some difficulty, and repeated, "Just some valentines, bro. You don't have to get jealous over it or anything."

Alfred, Matthew, and their friends were gathered around their usual lunchroom table one chilly afternoon in November. Their latest discussion revolved around (once again) the identity of Alfred's secret admirer, who had yet to leave a name.

Looking angry, Matthew flicked his brother in the forehead, making him wince.

"You know, slipping someone a card between the cracks of a locker is one thing, but leaving gifts every other day _inside_ your locker? Al, how would someone know your locker combination to begin with? That spells 'creepy' in my book."

Alfred had been sipping water, choked, and coughed. "Uh…..I dunno?" he croaked, scrubbing at his wet face. "I guess I didn't really think about that part."

"Exactly. What if someone's trying to butter you up, make you meet up with them in some dark alley so they can hit you with a shovel and—"

To Matthew's left, Francis shivered as he played with his salad. "I will not be sleeping well tonight. Ack! Where do you hear of such horrible things?"

"'To Catch a Predator' and stuff, but never mind that! Alfred, I think you should tell a teacher or get a new locker. Or, at the very least, leave this person a note politely asking them to stop what they're doing."

Alfred frowned. "But they've been so nice. I don't mind if they're in my locker, as long as they don't take anything. And so far, they haven't."

Okay, that wasn't entirely true. A box of pencils that had his teeth marks on them had disappeared last week, but they had been replaced with a set of new red and blue pencils with stars on them. And he had a photo of himself and his friends on Halloween that had mysteriously vanished from inside the locker, but he supposed he could have simply misplaced it.

Kiku looked up from his soup, frowning pensively.

"It is like Valentine's Day come early for you, Alfred. The chocolate this person has presented to you is like 'special' chocolate. They must like you a lot."

Alfred blinked. "Why, because it's usually my favorite stuff?"

"That, and it's high-quality. If it were homemade, then that would be as good as a declaration of love back home."

"It isn't as though the letters have done a bad job of that," muttered Francis dreamily. "Alfred, show them to us again, please?"

The younger Jones brother laughed and colored pink. "Aww, c'mon, guys, I've shown them to you half a dozen times already…."

Ismael, the dark-haired, stocky kid on Matthew's right scoffed.

"You're such a show-off, Alfred. You keep them with you on all times just in case someone asks you about them. So transparent."

"Ismael," said Matthew impatiently. "Alfred's not like that."

Alfred flushed, but for a different reason this time. He forced himself to count backwards from ten before he said something he would regret later on. '_He's Mattie's best friend, don't hit him, don't hit him….'_

"They just make me feel really special, is all," he said honestly, digging out the small pile of notes from his bag. "No one's ever said this kind of stuff to me before."

"If it make you happy, I don't see problem," piped up Ivan out of nowhere. Everyone looked slightly surprised; Ivan didn't normally say much of anything unless Alfred was talking to him.

Alfred cast his friend a grateful glance, then picked up one of the notes and read it aloud. He wasn't sure why; he had it memorized by heart. "'Thinking of you often, and joyously. You are the apple of my eye, and the sunshine in my life. I am so happy you exist.'"

"This stalker should write Hallmark cards," commented the Cuban kid with a smirk. Alfred ignored him.

"So romantic," sighed Francis, picking up another. "'Bright flowers for bright eyes.' I have never known a girl to give flowers to a boy…she must really like you, Alfred."

A mischievous glint entered his eye. "Ah! But what if it is not a girl at all, Alfred? What will you do then?"

Alfred buried his face in his hands. "Dude, I…..uh….I don't even know. Don't go there."

Kiku went pink, and he looked carefully at the writing on one of the notes.

"I cannot tell if it is the handwriting of a boy or girl," he confessed, not looking happy. "'You are wonderful. You are so kind and full of life. You are the warm in the cold.' This sounds to me like a girl's writing."

"What? A boy cannot be poetic?" asked Francis as he picked up another note. "'Stay warm, my sweet….' I wish I could write to Monaca like such."

"You guys all still missing the point," complained Matthew. "What if this person is like some deranged stalker or something? Alfred, you're absolutely POSITIVE you have no idea whom it could be?"

Alfred looked up.

"I keep tellin' ya Mattie, I have no freakin' clue! The notes-the gifts-they're just in my locker before school starts every morning."

"So who would it be? Some early-rising student who knows Alfred's schedule, or a janitor?" asked Kiku, frowning pensively.

Alfred shuddered. "Oh my God Kiku, you just gave me mental scars."

"I agree with Matthew, Alfred. Perhaps this is not altogether a good thing."

"You speak like a scorned lover," mocked Francis. Kiku squawked. Ivan looked up from his food, startled.

"What?" he asked sharply. "Don't say such things, Francis."

"Yes!" agreed Kiku immediately, blushing and glowering daggers at the French student, who only chuckled, shrugging innocently.

"I was only kidding-"

"It still wasn't funny-"

"So what d'ya think I should do?" Alfred asked quickly, before a food fight could break out. Damn, but that _look_ Ivan was giving Francis suggested that the Russian was ready to shove that plastic spork one place it most certainly did _not _need to be…

Matthew crossed his arms and frowned. "I still say get a new locker, ask them to stop, or at least try finding out who they are. Maybe it's some cute, shy girl, or maybe it's some crazy stalker. You can't be sure right now."

Ismael shrugged. "Don't care what you do. But if you meet this chick, be sure to take lotsa pictures of yer face. I'm sure that'll be good for a laugh when you realize some poor, probably brain damaged lug likes ya."

Alfred gave Ismael the finger, scowling. Several years ago, he'd gotten on the wrong foot with Mattie's best friend, and they'd never really been able to set things straight. Ismael loathed Alfred, and Alfred couldn't say he didn't return the sentiment.

This jerk was really making Alfred miss Arthur right now. He tried to keep his eyes from flickering to the back of the lunchroom, where Arthur's _'Have you seen me?'_ poster still hung, as it had for weeks. He wondered if letting Kiku and Ivan start up a food fight was such a bad idea after all.

Francis just shrugged again, smiling. "I say sit back and enjoy the love. Even if you do not like this person, why not enjoy the attention? I think it's sweet."

"Do whatever you think is right, Alfred," said Ivan gently. "But this person doesn't seem to mean you any harm."

Kiku said nothing for a moment. Then, he gently said, "Maybe you should follow Matthew's advice, Alfred. I do not want you to get hurt."

Alfred was about to throw his hands in the air. Why couldn't any of his friends actually be happy for him? Ugggh, this was so annoying!

"I guess I could always just leave 'em a note and ask them to meet…." He said cautiously. "Like, in the gymnasium after school or something."

"I don't like that idea, Alfred," said Kiku firmly. Alfred smacked his forehead.

"It isn't like the candy they've brought has been poisonous so far-"

"_'So far_,'" returned Matthew. Alfred brushed that aside.

"And the paper flower bouquet didn't explode, the sunflowers didn't…I dunno, have chloroform in 'em or anything, the pencils weren't detonators, and the poems weren't asking me to sacrifice myself to the sun god or anything like that, so I don't think it'd be a bad idea to at least _talk_ to the person," Alfred said airily, leaning back in his chair and grinning at his friends. "Hey, even if they're shy and don't show, maybe I'll get some more chocolate out of the deal."

Ivan smiled. Kiku still looked unhappy and opened his mouth, likely to protest, but just then the bell rang and everyone at their table started pitching their junk into the nearby trashcan. As Alfred started waving his friends goodbye, his best friend approached him, dark brown eyes strictly serious.

"Alfred, I would like a word with you."

The blond blinked, but grinned amicably.

"Sure." He turned his head to Ivan, who was hovering uncertainly by the lunchroom doors. "Go ahead, buddy. I'll meet ya at music in a bit. Just tell Mr. B I'll be a little late again."

The Russian's eyes widened, but he nodded, slowly turning away with a slight wave. "Da. I will be waiting, Alfredka." Kiku's eyes narrowed, and the two watched him slowly trudge down the hall, head and shoulders above everyone else.

"You and Ivan-kun are certainly very close, aren't you?" Kiku's voice sounded a little deadpanned as he sat down again at their table. Alfred followed suit, though he looked somewhat lost.

"Uh…I guess?" he answered, playing with the stubborn hair strand that never would lie flat with the others. "Yeah, Iv practically lives at my place. My Mom's started laying out one more placemat for dinner almost every day." He snorted, and Kiku's disapproving expression clouded over to one of worry. "It's actually pretty funny, considering I've never seen his digs…."

Kiku worried at his lower lip.

"Alfred, Ivan has been here for a rather long time now, hasn't he?"

The blond shrugged. "A couple months now, give or take."

"So he should have made a couple of friends by now, right? Besides you?" Kiku's face reddened like a poppy, and he immediately looked down at his interconnected fingers. "I-I mean, that is to say, he is very clingy to you. I notice he follows you around everywhere he can."

Alfred shrugged again, this time uncomfortably. He didn't like to admit it, but Ivan was definitely in his life more than he had anticipated when he'd first met the guy.

"I guess," he said awkwardly, running a hand through his mop of gold hair. "I kinda thought the same thing in the beginning. But then Mattie got all on my case about it and told me that Ivan's just a lonely new guy in a new country. Still stumbles over his English and is totally shy to boot." He smiled and leaned back, stretching slightly.

"But doesn't it get a little overbearing?"

"…..uh, sometimes," Alfred admitted reluctantly. He really didn't enjoy talking about his friends behind their backs. "But he's a totally nice guy who likes laughing at bad films and doesn't get mad when I scream like a girl when we watch scary flicks."

Kiku lowered his eyes. "What will he do when we graduate? If he doesn't learn how to make friends, he will be alone in college."

"Yeah well, he's gonna have to learn how to deal eventually," Alfred agreed. "But maybe a year with us and he'll learn how to relax a little around people. After all, I'm Alfred Fucking Jones—I can get a hermit crab to come out of its shell _and_ make friends with elusive sea monsters," he boasted, and Kiku rolled his eyes, letting slip a begrudging smile. "Like that time the two of us went to Sea World and Whaley—"

"I miss those times," murmured Kiku wistfully. Alfred's eyes about popped out of his head.

"Dude! What do you mean?" he exclaimed, grabbing the startled Japanese's shoulders and shaking them, making Kiku's dark brown eyes roll in his head. "Aw, Kiku, I know we haven't been hanging around as much as we used to, but there's no reason why we can't make room for more time together. 'Sides," he added, "There won't be much time for that once you're in Ivy League with the big boys."

"Alfred, I do not even know if I have been accepted yet—"

"But you will," interrupted Alfred carelessly. "No need to worry your pretty little head over it, buddy; you got more brains than you know what to do with. Hey man, you feeling alright?" Kiku flushed again, stammered, and then started coughing. Alfred roughly clapped him on the shoulder, sending Kiku's fake coughing jag into a real one.

"Well, maybe just the two of us could hang out this week. Wouldn't that be sweet? Well, actually it might have to wait until this weekend," he added hastily, scowling. "Mattie's got his semifinal this Thursday and I got the damn test on Friday."

Clearing his throat, eyes watering, Kiku nodded sympathetically. It was no secret among them that Alfred was doing poorly in his math classes, barely managing to hold onto a D. "Perhaps when you are finished, we can go out and celebrate."

Alfred whooped and clapped his hands. "Now you're speakin' my language! When Mattie's team kicks the other guys' asses and sends them home crying to their moms, we can celebrate that too. We'll go Christmas shopping and eat junk and go to the arcade and watch TV and eat more junk and stay up all night and eat some more junk until we're sick," he said enthusiastically. "Why, Mattie and I could make those red and blue cookies you're so fond of…."

The Asian teen paled and clutched his stomach while Alfred cracked up. "Very funny. But that does sound nice. Just us?"

Alfred nodded, beaming. "Mm-hmm! Well, Matts too, of course, but he'll probably bum out early to study or practice or whatever. So it'll be just the two of us, if you're okay with that. I can ask Ivan to come around, if you li—"

"Just the two of us will be fine," Kiku interrupted him hastily. "Don't get me wrong, I think Ivan is….nice, but he…." Kiku looked as though he wanted to say more, but he simply shrugged and cleared his throat again. "U-um, Alfred, I wanted to tell you something," he croaked, and Alfred leaned in curiously.

"Hmm? What is it? Talk to me, buddy."

Kiku took a deep breath.

"Well, y-you see, I was hoping…"

The bell started to shrill, and Alfred leapt to his feet, gulping.

"Aw, shit, Mr. Oxenstierna's gonna be pissed!" he moaned, dragging his fingers through his hair. "I don't think he'll write me up, but still, probably gotta—"

The bell did not stop ringing. In fact, it was getting louder now, much more piercing and insistent than usual. Alfred clapped his hands over his ears and swore. "Okay, okay, I freaking get it! Why won't you shut up?!"

"Ugh! I can't hear myself!" Kiku exclaimed, his palms flying to his head. To Alfred, it just looked like Kiku's lips were moving.

"What?" he yelled.

"I said I cannot hear myself!"

**"WHAT?"**

**"I SAID—"**

Briiiinnng! _Brriiiiiiiinnnnnng!_ **BRRRIIINNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGG!**

People flooded through the lunch doors, and suddenly there was Ivan, grinning tightly from ear to ear.

"Very loud, isn't it? Hello again, you two," he called out sweetly, seemingly oblivious to the positively filthy look the Asian teen was giving him. "We best be the leaving quicker soon in case there's really a fire!"

"Sweet!" Alfred exclaimed, as their friends scurried back into their group. "Who's the arsonist? I'd like to shake his hand."

"Not funny, bro," Matthew snapped as everyone began to bustle outside. Alfred looked at him.

"What?"

"I—oh, Christ, forget it."

Kiku was looking seriously put out. Ivan couldn't seem to stop smiling, even as he casually sidled through the crowds to Alfred's side, conveniently knocking Kiku aside as he did so.

~*oOo*~

"Don't they normally tell us about these things in the morning announcements?" Alfred asked as he and his friends waited for their teachers to call roll. "Kinda defeats the purpose of it, I guess, but I don't think they've ever given us a surprise drill."

"Y'know, Mr. Vargas seemed pretty surprised about it too," Matthew spoke up, staring at the school with a raised eyebrow. "Not that he actually looks at the school memos, but you'd think the teachers would at least know something about it."

"Well, it isn't as if a blaze is going to give you a warning, is it?" sighed Francis dreamily, staring at the sky overhead. "A large fiery inferno, ah, what a sight, as beautiful and as terrifying as a woman scorned."

"You don't think there's actually been a fire, do you?" Alfred asked Ivan hopefully. "I didn't smell any smoke."

"Neither I, little Alfred," Ivan murmured, squeezing his hand, causing Alfred to blush and hurriedly step aside, and Kiku to suddenly lose his footing and step on Ivan's foot.

Everyone got quiet as fire engines zoomed down the streets, but there was still no sign of any smoke, no strange light in the windows. A firefighter dismounted from the fiery red truck to speak with curly-haired Mr. Rome, who was looking seriously confused.

Ismael curiously ventured near the arguing men, and then hurried back to his friends (and Alfred) to report. "Nah, no fire. I heard someone pulled the fire alarm. Some kind of senior prank, maybe?"

Matthew's eyes widened.

"Ismael, no way."

"Si. Way, amigo," said the Cuban carelessly, tucking his arms behind his head to stare back at the perfectly still school. "You realize that's a federal offense, right? Some joker's gonna get their ass a one-way ticket outta here."

"Good luck with finding them," murmured Ivan thoughtfully as the students were given the all-clear signal to move back inside. "I am sure whoever they are, they have good reason, yes?"

* * *

**Agggh, we don't even get to Mr. Yao yet...please don't hate me! *Ducks at garbage thrown* Again, school is starting soon and I need to prioritize my fictions; some might have to go. But I have the plot for this story pretty much figured out, so if you guys will give me your support (and any helpful advice you might have), it will be very much appreciated! Thank you!**


	3. Mr Yao Takes An Extended Vacation, Pt 2

~*oOo*~

"And so, we carry the numerator and divide it with the coefficient of x, which, you will understand after putting the figures in your graphing calculator, is equal to…."

The words were empty, blissful static in Alfred's ears until something, or rather someone poked him in the elbow. The young man squawked and very nearly fell out of his seat, much to the amusement of the people in his row. The dark-haired teacher turned around at the titters behind him and scowled when Alfred abruptly sat up in his seat, raised his head and folded his hands, the picture of innocence.

"Mr. Jones, I rather you show off acrobat skills on gym floor. Right now, you're much more likely to impress me if you stay awake for change."

More titters and snorts from his classmates. Alfred immediately turned red and cast Mr. Yao's back a dirty look almost as soon as he resumed to finish the problem on the board. _Old jerk,_ Alfred thought ruefully.

From beside him, Ivan cast him an apologetic, almost pleading look and Alfred just shrugged it off, frustration fading somewhat. His blue eyes wandered to the clock overhead, and the teen silently howled in frustration when he realized there was still forty-one minutes in this awful class to go. _Why do they make me pass this class before I graduate?_ He thought huffily. _I'd rather pick up trash beside the road._

Alfred had the uncanny gift of making friends with most people, but the few that he didn't—i.e, Arthur, Ismael, etc—he tended to get on with pretty rottenly. Mr. Yao had been one of those people; even when Alfred turned in his homework with all of the work shown and no pictures of dinosaurs duking it out over Tokyo included and tried not to fidget in class, it seemed the old Math teacher always had a special frown reserved just for him. For students like Kiku and Matthew he could spare a rare approving smile, but never Alfred.

The teen wondered if he'd ever especially rubbed the man the wrong way without even trying to. Maybe Mr. Yao was one of those teachers who could always spare a kind word for the brainiacs but viewed athletes as one big lazy horde of dimwits. He heard something of the effect in the hallway.

Alfred had never done well in any sort of math class; it was easier in grade school when Matthew could explain things just as soon as the teacher said them. But now his brother was in freaking Chemistry class and was now busy gearing up for one of the biggest days of his life, so Alfred was kind of stuck. He was barely holding onto a C/D average, and he was fighting not to slip under with all his might.

Ivan was rather good at math, but he had a difficult time explaining concepts, especially considering he would accidentally slip into Russian a lot, because that was the language in which he'd been taught said concepts. A good number of people laughed at him for that in the hallways, which made Alfred burn with frustration again. People were such _jerks_.

He leaned back in his seat, nibbling on one of his pencils thoughtfully as he squinted at the Asian teacher's messy handwriting on the board. His brow furrowed, and his blue eyes anxiously scanned over his own, messier scribbles on his notebook. It had taken every ounce of his powers of concentration to hang on this far in the lecture, and somewhere somehow without even realizing it he'd drifted away to doodle pictures of snowmen inside snowglobes.

"Damn," he muttered, almost inaudibly. Mr. Yao turned around again, hands on his hips.

"Got anything you would like to share with the class, Mr. Jones? Or would you like to park a seat outside the principal's office?"

~*oOo*~

"Dude, about the whole '_I can't copy your work because that's dishonest and unheroish_,' crap, I feel like taking it back," Alfred complained after the bell finally rang, wearily gathering his things up with the air of an injured soldier. Ivan shook his shoulder playfully.

"Is not too late. I can give you notes I made. Oh," he added, stopping in his tracks around the flood of people exiting, an unhappy glaze appearing in his eyes. "I think I wrote them in Cyrillic because is faster….I am sorry."

Alfred sighed. "No biggie, dude." When Ivan still looked upset, Alfred forced himself to laugh. "C'mon, you think Mr. Yao wants to see my beautiful mug again next year? He'll give me a D and call it a day if I study hard for the final. I just wish it wasn't this week," he added wistfully as they trudged down the hall. "Mattie's game and everything…."

"Da," said Ivan gently, clapping his shoulder. "Is a shame."

Matthew's hockey team had earned themselves a spot in the state semifinals and were playing their next game on Thursday. Alfred knew this was his brother's last chance to make a championship game before his high school career ended, so he spent almost all of his waking hours at the local ice rink with the team. Alfred usually tagged along with his textbook to watch in the stands, but the textbook was almost always invariably ignored.

Alfred was very glad that his brother had managed to make it so far, though it now meant that he had one less person to tutor him. It was a shame, too—Matthew always had a fashion of explaining the most frustrating equations in a way Alfred could at least _vaguely_ understand. Kiku was more than happy to help him study, but college application deadlines were coming up and so the teen spent much of his time in cram school. Matthew's college in Canada required him to do a lot of volunteer work before they would accept him, and so the poor boy juggled with hockey practice and after-school tutoring at the private middle school in town, St. Sebastian's.

"D'you wanna come to my place?" Alfred asked uncertainly as the two headed down to the parking lot where Ivan's car waited. "You know, it's kind of weird. You might as well be calling my folks Mom and Pop, but I don't think I've ever been to your place, or met your sisters. Hey, you said you have a little sis, right? Does she go to St. Sebastian's?"

Alfred had walked on several paces before realizing he had left Ivan behind, turning around to stare quizzically at the Russian, who had suddenly become a statue. "Da," he choked out after a moment or so. "And my big sister goes to community college here in town."

The blond beamed at him, wintry air playing with his ash blond hair. "That's neat! Y'know, if it's not too inconvenient, I'd love to drop over by your place sometime and meet them. Not that your coming over to my place is a problem, though," he added hastily. "Trust me, Mom thinks that you should totally move in, teach the rest of us some manners…"

Ivan still seemed stuck in a daze. "Da," he said at last. "Da, why not? If you like, we can go there now. Natalya won't be there, however," he added hastily. "She has…lots and lots of homework to do."

"Oh, is she in the after school program? I can tell Mattie to look out for her, give her special treatment and stuff!"

"Nyet," Ivan returned quickly, smiling hugely and making Alfred just a smidgen uncomfortable. "No, she is not…she is studious, is all, and likely to be studying hard before she goes out with friends." They reached Ivan's vehicle and as always, the Russian pulled the door open for him and bowed. Alfred shook his head and flushed rosily. "God, ya always gotta treat me like a lady? Thanks though," he added grudgingly on his way in. "And it's good to hear that your sister's made a lotta friends. Bet you were worried when you first came here, huh?"

"Da," Ivan agreed, slamming the door, climbing into the driver's seat and revving the engine. He didn't say a word on the way to his house, preferring to let Alfred's chatter permeate the silence instead.

~*oOo*~

Alfred wasn't certain what he had been expecting—perhaps a Russian-looking house on chicken legs, maybe—but Ivan pulled into a simple enough apartment complex, next to many other gray buildings that all looked the same. Comforting and boring at the same time. Before Alfred had his seatbelt unbuckled, Ivan was out of the car and at his side, hastily opening the door and extending a hand. Alfred suddenly found a great deal of dust on his jeans as he slowly stood up, appearing not to notice.

"So, is your older sister home?"

"She should be very soon."

The two passed the parking lot in relative quiet, though the wind did flutter at some yellowing '_Have You Seen Me?_' posters of Arthur Kirkland clumsily stapled to some old telephone poles. It was cold and cloudy out, and Alfred found himself huddling close to Ivan, who walked as if it were midsummer.

They climbed a few flights of stairs and soon enough Ivan was pulling out a key for room 666.

"Dude, that's seriously freaky, isn't it?" Alfred laughed, wondering why his chuckle sounded so high and forced. Ivan grinned at him.

"I guess it is." He opened the door, beckoning Alfred to come in as he took off his shoes. Alfred awkwardly followed suit, feeling strangely nervous when Ivan shut the door behind him.

He supposed he not ought to have worried; for a place marked 666, the room looked and smelled like….well, like other people's home. Nice and neat and normal. As Ivan wandered off to the kitchen to make some hot chocolate, Alfred wandered over to the eggshell-colored walls, admiring some paintings of sunflowers and noticing a few old photographs. He leaned in to take a closer look.

In one of the frames, he saw a kind-faced young girl holding onto the hand of a tiny little boy—_Ivan_—he realized with some fiendish delight—who had an even smaller girl practically draped around him, giving the camera a very dark look. He moved on to some more recent-looking photographs; plenty of pictures of the kind-faced girl and Ivan, but almost none of the dark-eyed girl who'd glowered at the camera, clinging to Ivan as if her life depended on it.

"What do you think?"

Alfred started and turned; Ivan was standing behind him with his custom small smile, although it looked like his violet eyes were calculating him somehow. Alfred blinked and took one of the steaming mugs Ivan was holding out to him, blowing on it appreciatively.

"Nice place. Did your sister paint all those?" He took a sip of his chocolate and nearly groaned with pleasure—mixed with cinnamon, perfect. Ivan stared into the depths of his own drink, fingers clumsily fumbling with the handle.

"Oh, well, um, I did." Ivan looked back up at him, shy, abashed.

"Seriously?" Alfred gawked at him, found no hint that he was lying, and simply lit up like a Christmas tree. "Dude, you can freaking _paint_! That's so cool, why didn't you tell me you could do that before? You're an artist!"

"Oh, well…..just a hobby…." Ivan shifted, flushed with praise, rocking back and forth on his feet Alfred continued to chatter on for a few moments, asking Ivan if he had any more pieces to show him. When Ivan eagerly lumbered off to get his album, Alfred sank down onto the leather sofa in the living room and waited, staring up at the photos. Still no picture of what could pass as a Mom or Dad…maybe they both died, or were both assholes? Alfred definitely didn't want to bring it up, as it might be a touchy subject with Ivan.

His sister probably had legal guardianship of both him and his little sister—probably why they were able to live by themselves. They seemed to be doing just fine.

Something nudged Alfred's foot, and the teen looked down in surprise. An incredibly furry, dark brown cat was sniffing curiously at his pant leg, giving it an experimental headbutt and nuzzling it. Surprised, Alfred nonetheless chuckled and started to scratch the cat behind the ears. A loud, motor-like sound filled the room and he drew back in surprise, wondering where the sound was coming from only to discover that the rumbling noise was coming from the appreciative cat, headbutting Alfred's hand for more attention.

"Awww, you're such a cute….thing!" Alfred scooped up the creature, wondering if something so large could be a feline. Maybe it was a Russian dog or something? Nope, judging from the ears it was just a big, fat, happy cat with a flat nose.

Ivan laughed as he returned, clutching his book to his chest. "Oh, that's just Vodka. We do not get many visitors, so he is pleased, I think, to make new friend."

"Awww, Franklin would just loooveee you!" Alfred cooed, playfully nuzzling the cat's head underneath his chin. "Gotta make a catdate of it sometime…are you really the little guy who played in the mud and then got all crabby when your poor master tried to give you a bath?"

"Da," said Ivan quickly. "We lived on the ground floor then, and we used to be able to let Vodka go out, but since is cheaper to live up a few flights, he's become an indoor cat."

Vodka curled up in Alfred's lap and continued to purr as Ivan flicked through the many pictures he'd painted or sketched, though some were chalk pieces. Alfred was dazzled by most if not all of them—his artistic ability only extended so far as stick people, whereas Ivan was making sketches that might have made Van Gogh green with envy. "You definitely like to draw sunflowers a lot, huh big guy?"

"Beautiful," said Ivan happily. "Nothing like that in Russia. No lovely sunflowers." He tucked a strand of hair behind Alfred's ear and smiled serenely. "So happy to be here now, where they are everywhere. Though," he added sweetly, "Some are just….lovelier than others, da?"

Alfred swallowed, his Adam's Apple bobbing, nerves dancing like frantic butterflies scattering this way and that in his stomach. Ivan had been sitting relatively close to him when they first started going through the sketchbook, but now he was pressed up against Alfred, looking at him.

The room was now feeling unbearably hot, though something cold danced up his spine, ice replacing bone as Ivan's hand wandered over from the book pages to Alfred's face, still gloved hands ghosting over his cheekbone with the tenderest of touches. Breathing heavily, Alfred tried to look away, but felt his gaze being tugged back to Ivan, whose expression had not changed. Still keen, still intense. Still…

_….hungry._ Almost greedy.

Alfred squirmed in his seat, his heartbeat slowly advancing and the organ trembling as Ivan let out a sigh and closed his eyes, negating the gravitational force of that intense purple gaze. The Russian breathed in, his hand wandering from Alfred's face and burying itself into Alfred's blonde hair, fingertips slowly rubbing little circles on his scalp. The other hand went to cup Alfred's cheek, the fingers splaying across his skin and rubbing the flesh affectionately.

Incredibly uncomfortable, mouth dry, feeling heat blossoming from the depths of his stomach and spreading generously throughout his body, Alfred made to clear his throat, but no sound would come out. After a moment, his brain and vocal cords finally reconnected, and he heard a small, pale voice answer him.

"Ivan, I—"

Somewhere, the two heard the door slam, and a cheerful, foreign-sounding voice call out, "Vanya, I'm home!"

The two young men turned their heads; Vodka leapt off Alfred's lap and zipped towards the source. A very pretty, buxom young woman entered the room, smiling broadly down at the cat who had come to greet her.

"Hello, Vodka! Oh Vanya, sorry I'm so late, the professor vanted to talk vith me before I left for the grocery story…and there was a line because they say there vill be a blizzard and the roads vill be closed…." At last the silver-haired woman looked up, and one of the brown shopping bags tumbled out of her arms, a few cans with Cyrillic labels rolling out and away. Vodka scurried after one that rolled underneath the coffee table and proceeded to bat at it.

Ivan did not look happy. He was staring at his sister with an expression of grave disappointment—perhaps even anger. Alfred dared a glance at him and immediately stood up to collect the fallen groceries. "Um, hey, Ivan's sister. It's nice to meet you."

"Sister," Ivan said stiffly. "This is Alfred. Boy I have been telling you about? For many months?"

For a moment the short-haired woman just stared at him, her mouth a tiny 'o.' Then, her powder blue eyes filled up with tears. Alfred had been just about to hand her the cans he'd scooped up, but he almost immediately dropped them again. "Whoa! I'm s-sorry!" he stammered, dumping the cans into a stray bag. "I…I didn't meant to offend…"

The woman looked at him through her tears, and then immediately seized Alfred by the shoulders and crushed him to her chest. Considering just how prominent it was, this was no small deal; Alfred turned a scarlet, flailing mess as the young woman happily began to babble something in Russian, and then stopped and corrected herself, blushing. Ivan cleared his throat rather sharply, and the woman let a very dazed Alfred go, still sniffling and wiping her eyes considerably.

"Oh, is so very nice to meet you! Ivan has said so much about you but he has had no friends come to visit since we moved here, so I have been very worried but now I'm happy because you are such good friend to Vanya!"

"Katyusha, calm down," Ivan muttered, popping out of nowhere from behind Alfred and making the teen produce a squawk as he draped an arm around him. "You will drown place in tears sooner or later."

"Da, da, but they are of joy! I'm so pleased!"

"U-um, very nice t-to meet you too…." He noticed some silver, melting flakes in her hair and his embarrassment immediately turned to confusion. "Hey, is it..."

He hurried to the nearby window and crowed in pleasure; thick, white flakes were drifting outside. "Hell _yeah_, baby! First snow of the season!"

Warm fingers suddenly wrapped around his hand and Alfred glanced up in surprise to find Ivan standing there beside him. He forced out a laugh and tried to tug his hand away, but Ivan clung on like a persistent two year old, smiling. Confused and somewhat embarrassed, Alfred just stared out the window. The guy really could be a little creepy at times.

Vodka plodded over to the two and Alfred bent to scratch his ears, one of his hands still arrested in Ivan's. Katyusha was cheerily talking to them both about the weather report. "—nothing like how it was back home, but am glad I came back vhen I did…."

"Maybe we'll get a ton of snow and school'll be canceled for the next few days," Alfred said hopefully, deciding to avoid looking up at Ivan directly.

"Da. But it does not seem likely. You're much more likely to get snowed in tonight and have to stay here." Ivan sounded much too happy with the prospect.

Alfred and Katyusha laughed; his was forced, Katyusha's was genuine. "Oh, Vanya, is just a little flurry. Nothing like that big pile ve got back home when you vere small…remember when ve vere snowed in house for two days?"

"Don't care how much we get, so long as there's enough to make a snowman and not enough to postpone Mattie's game," Alfred said, seizing his chance and sidestepping away when Ivan went to pick up Vodka. "Though havin' an ice hockey game canceled just cause of some cold weather seems like the dumbest thing ever—Mattie'd have a stroke. Uh, need some help putting those away, Katyusha?"

~*oOo*~

Once Alfred had very meticulously helped put the groceries away—he made sure to handle every item one at a time, with both hands, which might have been a waste of effort considering Ivan liked to scoop him up so that he could put cans on high shelves—he immediately wanted to race outside. Ivan didn't seem to understand Alfred's enthusiasm, but he put on his large Ushanka and Alfred scrabbled for his shoes and coat. But just as Alfred's hand wrapped around the door, Ivan pulled him back and pulled furry mitts over the surprised teen's hands, as well as wrapped the old beige scarf he wore almost every day round Alfred's neck.

"Careful, **_Солнышко. _****You will catch cold.****" ****The rabbit fur felt amazingly soft and pleasant against Alfred's hands, like fuzzy warm silk. **

**"Uh…thanks, man," Alfred returned, smiling his most charming grin as Ivan gave him one of his strange, large, lopsided smiles. It was weird looking, but undeniably endearing. The two hurried out the door and down the steps, Alfred pausing to lean his head back and stick out his tongue, catching a stray flake. "Mmm, the first snow tastes the best. By January or February everyone's just freaking sick of 'em, so they don't taste so good then."**

"There is a difference?"

"Course there is." Alfred grinned, shuffling slightly when Ivan returned it again, stepping onto the same step Alfred was standing on. As much of a bastard he felt for thinking it, he really wished he were enjoying this moment with Kiku, who hated the cold and bundled up until he was a walking puffball. Ivan was a puffball, but an entirely different kind. "Let's go in the parking lot and run around like idiots!"

"Why?"

"Coz who else is gonna do it?"

Ivan's eyes twinkled and he hastened to follow his American friend as he raced down the steps, laughing. "But what about your studying?"

"It's okay! That can wait—the snow won't!"

In all honesty, he wasn't sure how he felt about sitting on that sofa with Ivan again, even if Katyusha were nearby.

~*oOo*~

Three hours later, snow was still falling, although the more appropriate term by now might have been hurtling. Flushed with exertion and with cold, Alfred had wanted to go home, but Ivan had offered to at least _try_ to teach him some equations that would likely appear on the test. After an hour or so of "studying" (it had turned into a game of tic-tac-toe along the way), Katyusha had graciously asked Alfred to stay for dinner. Feeling it rude to say no, Alfred reluctantly agreed and sent his brother and mother a quick text message. Now the three were gathered at the table, with Vodka sleeping on Alfred's lap.

Alfred stirred around the contents of his borscht, blowing and taking a bite, humming appreciatively. He'd never really liked beets or cabbage, but it was nice to eat something hot, especially considering he had just started sneezing every three minutes. "Aa-choo!"

"Bless you!" Katyusha chimed again as Ivan handed Alfred a tissue. "I hope you aren't coming down with a cold."

Sniffing, Alfred nonetheless grinned at her. "Nah. Colds are for wimps and people who can't outrun one. I'm good."

Katyusha giggled and bent over her food before her eyes widened. "Oh! Vanya, the hospital called today," she said gently, turning to her younger brother who was sitting very close to Alfred. "They will be sending along your things shortly. Isn't that nice?"

Ivan's spoon clattered to his bowl. All the color drained out of Katyusha's sweet and hopeful face, and Alfred gave Ivan a puzzled look. "Hospital?"

"I had appendicitis back in Russia," Ivan confessed. Alfred winced in sympathy. His father had had that too. "Just a few weeks before the two of us were set to leave, I started getting bad stomachache. Went to physical and the doctor realized I needed surgery very fast. Accidentally left a few of my personal things in hospital room while I recovered, so now hospital is mailing them to States."

"Most troublesome," added Katyusha, looking strangely relieved as Ivan turned back to his food. Alfred turned to Ivan. "Dude! You must have a really cool scar! Can I see it sometime?"

Silence. Katyusha abruptly stood up, announced she needed to use the lavatory, and all but ran out of the room. Alfred blinked, bewildered and hurt. "Oh, no. Did I do something wrong?"

"Nyet," Ivan reassured him, squeezing his arm. "She is just like that—very squeamish. But I hope you don't mind if I do not show you, Alfredka." An incredibly unhappy haze settled over him, and Alfred could almost feel the toxic waves rushing off of him, polluting the prior peace. Vodka must have sensed it too, for he rubbed his chin anxiously against Alfred's hand, wanting to be petted again. "I do not…want to show anyone my stomach. It is ugly and the scar is ugly."

Alfred sighed. "Vanya, nothing about you is ugly. Don't let Arthur or any other jackass tell you otherwise. You're a stud."

Ivan cast him a grateful, glowing look, and after awhile Katyusha dared to enter the kitchen again, her good mood returned. Alfred vaguely wondered why Ivan had said 'two of us' instead of 'three of us' when he had talked of leaving Russia with his family, but he supposed Ivan just misspoke and didn't pay much attention to it.

~*oOo*~

"What time is Natalya coming back?" Alfred asked while he and the two Braginski washed the dishes. He peered out the window—it was getting very dark outside and snow was still falling. "Hope she's not walkin' home from St. S…is she gonna be okay?"

Katyusha cast him a surprised look. "O-oh," she said mildly, her hands quivering just a little bit around the plate she held. Ivan grabbed it from midair just as it slipped out of her fingertips. "Vell, you see dear, little Natalya is—"

"—staying at her girlfriend's house," Ivan finished, and Katyusha immediately bent her head and seized a wet bowl from the stack, drying it immaculately. "Isn't that right, Katyusha? She left us a note this morning. Slumber party."

Katyusha blinked, and then nodded. "O-oh! Yes, of course. I had forgotten. Is shame you vill not meet her today, Alfred, dear. You vould like her very much."

"I'll ask Mattie to say hey to her if he sees her at St. S," Alfred said good-naturedly, finishing the last dish. "Hey Iv, wanna put the TV on before we study some more?"

"Da," Ivan agreed happily. "Go wait in den. I will be there with snacks in moment." Nodding gratefully, Alfred wandered off, picking up his phone on the way. He saw he had a text message from Mattie, and immediately opened it.

_MapleMarvelMattie_: Hey bro, you need me to pick you up?

Sinking onto the couch next to his forgotten Math notes, Alfred quickly responded.

_HeroThyNameIsAlfred_: Thx, but u just got done with practice. You're probably pretty beat, aren't u? ;)

_MapleMarvelMattie_: How'd you know? :-p

_HeroThyNameIsAlfred_: I know everything. :D

_MapleMarvelMattie_: Modesty thy name isn't Alfred.

_HeroThyNameIsAlfred_: Oh ha, ha, ha. Met Ivan's big sister Katyusha. And dude, I mean big sister. U guys would be all over her.

_MapleMarvelMattie_: On a scale to one to ten?

_HeroThyNameIsAlfred_: Eleven Hundred.

_MapleMarvelMattie_: O.O Wow.

_HeroThyNameIsAlfred_: I know, right? :D Their little sis is named Natalya Braginski…look out for her when u head off to St. S tomorrow b4 practice. Wonder what she's like…ready to go home. Can't believe I'm sayin it but I hope it stops snowing soon

_MapleMarvelMattie_: Tired of looking at gorgeous girls and wanting it to stop snowing? Who are you and what have you done with my brother?

_HeroThyNameIsAlfred_: Ha. Be a comedian. Mattie, something weird is going on here.

_MapleMarvelMattie_: Why, what do you mean?

_HeroThyNameIsAlfred_: Well, u see

Alfred accidentally hit the send button too early. Sighing, he made to finish the sentence, but there was a strange sound coming from the kitchen. Curious, he got up and went to see what the ruckus was all about. He peeked around the corner, tipping back when he saw what looked like Ivan and Katyusha arguing. Well, Ivan looked mad, maybe a little more upset than anything else. Katyusha looked quite frankly like she was about to burst into tears or start begging for mercy.

Ivan was muttering something, and Alfred could only pick up bits and pieces of the conversation.

"_Told _you—" A stream of Russian words Alfred could not understand. "—to say. I do not want him to think that we are crazy!"

"_Da, Vanya_," Katyusha croaked, rubbing at her eyes. She said something in Russian, and then again in English. "I have been vaiting for you to make a friend for so long. You seem so lonely, and this will be good for you, I know. I will be sure to remember next time. Простите. Простите. It will be fine. All will be fine, just fine, all is fine, fine, fine…."

Ivan shook his head and stooped to get a bowl from the cabinet. Alfred slowly drew away and trooped back to the living room, his stomach in knots. Ivan was probably upset with Katyusha for running out of the room earlier…Alfred fervently wished Ivan could make some more friends. Then he might chill the hell out and stop haranguing his sister, who seemed so nice.

At the same time, Alfred didn't feel like he could really yell at Ivan either, who was just anxious about appearing normal, like every other teenager.

The idea that he was Ivan's only friend didn't make Alfred feel particularly special. Actually, it just made him feel kind of uncomfortable…and he wanted to leave.

He glanced down at his phone again. Mattie had responded.

_MapleMarvelMattie_: See what? Everything okay?

_HeroThyNameIsAlfred_: I guess. I feel…weird, here. Ivan's really clingy and I'm getting the idea I'm the only friend he's got. I don't know what to do.

_MapleMarvelMattie_: Uh-oh. Are you being nice, Alfred? :(

_HeroThyNameIsAlfred_: Duh, yeah! I'm not doing anything wrong, here—Ivan's just kinda bugging me out a little! He's really considerate and stuff, but it's kinda overkill.

_MapleMarvelMattie_: Mom says to suck it up and be nice. Not everyone's Mister Popular, you realize.

_HeroThyNameIsAlfred_: Tattletale. But thx 4 acknowledging me as MP. ;D I'm gonna tell Iv I gotta cut out early…studying n stuff

_MapleMarvelMattie_: Uh…actually Alfred, Mom wanted to say something about that….

_HeroThyNameIsAlfred_: What?

_MapleMarvelMattie_: :/ Have you looked out the window?

Alfred glanced out and immediately went white, sneezing again.

_HeroThyNameIsAlfred_: Oh shit.

_MapleMarvelMattie_: I think, my brother, you are screwed.

_HeroThyNameIsAlfred_: Shut the hell up.

~*oOo*~

The weather forecast looked grim: In a matter of hours the world had turned from winter wonderland to winter wasteland.

"Iv, are you _positive _we can't drive out there?" Alfred pleaded, his lower lip trembling in spite of himself. "The salt trucks are probably gonna be out soon and stuff…."

"Not till at least midnight," Ivan reminded him cheerily, his blue-violet eyes kind, insistent. "And by then you will be exhausted, which means you will take another nap in class, which means Mr. Yao will yell at you again. You can borrow some of my clothes—I do not mind. I am sure we have a spare toothbrush lying around, too."

Alfred just stared at him, dismayed. One of Ivan's T-shirts was probably going to be a dress on him, and he'd probably have to wrap a belt around a pair of pajamas several times so that they didn't fall off.

Katyusha took his hand, squeezing it within her own. "Please stay," the woman pleaded. "If ve or your siblings cannot drive, you must valk, and you could get lost in such awful veather." Her eyes welled up, and Alfred turned his eyes to the ceiling, wondering why God forsook him.

Oh, what was he supposed to do with _that_?

Ivan beamed at him. "Then it is settled," he said happily, putting both hands on Alfred's shoulders. "You will stay at our home tonight."

Alfred resisted the urge to ask to borrow a lantern and some table salt with some difficulty.

~*oOo*~

"Aa-choo!"

As Ivan was making his colossal bed, he threw his best friend a surprised look. "You are sick," he said simply. It was a statement, not a question.

Alfred just shrugged in resignation, irritated and exhausted. He'd just taken a hot shower, which had felt nice, but now he was shivering again, even with Ivan's enormous clothes on him. They'd been even bigger than the two boys had anticipated, and the sleeves kept falling past his hands and the pant legs went way past his feet, making Alfred look as though he'd had both hands and feet amputated.

Ivan shook his head and chuckled, his strange face filling up with warmth.

_"Vy ocharovatelny."_

"Uh, same to you, man." He shifted from foot to foot in the chilly room as Ivan finished making the bed, patting the pillows welcomingly. "You know, I really don't mind sleeping on the sofa…"

"Hush," Ivan said fondly. "You are my guest. Is no problem. I hope you will be comfortable." He stepped forward and embraced Alfred, seemingly unaware of the small shiver that the shorter felt race through his body. Face pressed against Ivan's shoulder, Alfred inhaled the scent of black tea and rust as Ivan pressed his face against the crown of Alfred's head for the briefest of seconds before stepping away. "Goodnight, Alfredka."

And with that, Ivan left the room, leaving Alfred alone by the enormous bed. Bemused, Alfred slowly climbed into it, feeling like a midget underneath the thick, heavy quilt that seemed to be the size of a circus tent. He pressed his face against Ivan's pillow and sighed, fading to sleep with the scent of soap and vanilla following him into his dreams, the wind moaning and howling outside.

Later that night, Alfred woke, to the sound of Vodka purring next to him and to the now freezing air ghosting over his cold nose. He sneezed and shuffled down into the warmth of the blankets, which seemed a lot more prominent than they'd been when he went to sleep.

A gasp and Alfred's sleepy blue eyes peered upward, and his heart jumped in his throat when he saw a dark shadow stagger back in the darkness, wringing its hands. "Al-Alfredka?" it stammered. "Are you alright?"

Alfred scrunched his face up and propped himself up on one elbow. "Y-yeah." He blindly reached out for the nearby lamp and frowned when the light wouldn't flood into the room again. "Dude, I think there's something wrong with your lamp."

"Da. That is why I came in here. The electricity has gone out all over town. Just checked battery radio."

Alfred stared at Ivan, or at the murky blob in front of him he was pretty sure was Ivan.

"Are you kidding me?" he asked, dumbfounded, pulling the heavy piles of cloth Ivan had stacked on him towards him. "Does that mean we're gonna freeze to death in here?"

A soft laugh. "Nyet. Of course not. We will be fine; I just wanted to make sure you were feeling alright. Are you warm enough?"

Alfred tried to move his legs; it was difficult, considering just how many layers Ivan had spread on him to isolate him from the cold. What did the guy do, pull his entire wardrobe over him with every spare blanket in the house? "Uh…yeah. How about you, big guy?"

"Oh, I'm fine. Good night, **_Солнышко_****."**

**"Wait," Alfred blurted out, reaching out in the dark, finding Ivan's shirt. It had just occurred to him that while the couch was perfectly long enough for him, Ivan's head and feet were most likely dangling off the edges. He felt guilty. "Stay here."**

**A muted gasp. "You do not need to…I mean, well, if you want me to….."**

**Alfred huffed. "Plenty of room. Get in the damn bed, Ivan. It'll be warmer with the two of us, anyway."**

**He thought he might have heard Ivan clap his hands, but could not be sure; a second later Ivan was awkwardly squeezing beside him under the blankets, pressing himself right against Alfred's back, incredibly solid. Vodka lay atop them both, perfectly comfortable, still purring contently. **

**Alfred shifted, meaning to move away but upon feeling Ivan's cold skin settled against it, feeling Ivan's arms snake around him. He yawned, still half asleep, too tired to care. **

**"G'night," he muttered sleepily, drifting off again. **

**He thought he heard Ivan say something too, and something warm brushed against his face, but he was already asleep. **

**_Hours later, awake or asleep he could not tell, Alfred felt something was pressing softly into his shoulder muscles, massaging soothingly until Alfred relaxed fully back against the solid warmth gripping him from behind. As if encouraged, a pair of velvety lips fell on his cheek, trailing slowly from his cheek to his jugular, settling into the hollow at his throat, whispering something. Alfred shifted and tilted his head back, unconsciously giving the perpetuator better access. _**

**_The hands kept rubbing him, caressing his back while the lips pressed against his skin, leaving a series of fluttery kisses all over his skin, a hint of tongue trailing across it. One hand wrapped around Alfred's waist while the other stole its way up his borrowed shirt, searching for more delicate skin. _**

**_A hint of cold air made his skin erupt in goosebumps, but it was stifled almost immediately, as if a fleece had been draped around him. Then, the fingers found the pebbled skin, and started teasing, twitching and pulling and caressing until Alfred was gasping softly, squirming and shifting under the blankets as warmth steadily began to grow in his pelvic area. A hot tongue languidly touched one of his nipples, and Alfred let out a keening sound he had not known he was capable of producing. He pressed upward, and the hot mouth suckled the skin, moving on to treat the neglected one the same way. Alfred moaned, half out confusion and half out of arousal as his member began to harden beneath his pants, the warmth pooling into an insistent, needy twitch. _**

_The hands would not stop touching him, always exploring and caressing and worshipping. A hot gasp, and Alfred found himself pressed against something unmistakably hard as the hands wandered lower, lower, lower into his vital regions. He stirred and tried to tug the appendages away, but they dug into his pants and found his arousal, large fingers wrapping themselves around it and pulling slightly. _

_Alfred started twitching madly back and forth under the blankets, groaning and thrusting into the touch as he felt pre-cum start to trickle down his length. The hands increased their ministrations, stroking until Alfred was uncomfortably hard and gasping in the dark, his arousal now sticking up proudly, quivering with need until a tongue draped itself around it, languidly stroking a vein that was pulsing just as fast as his heart—_

And Alfred started, his blue eyes flying open, his heart pounding itself painfully against its confines. He tentatively touched himself and cringed, swearing in the dark. '_Oh God, what am I gonna tell Ivan?'_

The Russian lay against him, arms still enfolded around his torso, thankfully not touching….well, what Alfred really, really didn't want anyone touching right now. He awkwardly turned to look at him in the dark—and nearly chuckled; Ivan looked like a sleeping bear under the furry blankets, large and breathing deep. He almost thought he could see a hint of a smile on his face.

Alfred tried to pull himself free so that he could clean himself off, but even in sleep Ivan's grip was like steel, and so after several vigorous attempts grumpily settled back into the warm cocoon of blankets. Well, at least he hadn't got the blanket or—god forbid—Ivan wet. Maybe he wouldn't even notice in the morning.

_Tough luck, dumbass. _

Closing his eyes for the last time, Alfred waited in the dark until he fell into an uneasy slumber. Unbeknowst to him, someone else also waited, a pair of purple eyes flying open when Alfred started breathing deeply again, a hand caressing his face lovingly.

~*oOo*~

The next morning, the two boys reluctantly got out of bed at 6. If Ivan noticed anything he chose not to remark, and so Alfred was grateful. Although the Russian offered to lend him new clothes, Alfred just pulled on his things from yesterday, rathering to just look like a lazy slob rather than a blob of fabric.

After a quick shower, Alfred noticed that Ivan had indeed piled his entire wardrobe on him last night, including a few stray dish towels and rags. He tried not to think about it too much.

A hearty few inches or so of snow had fallen outside, but nothing that would close the schools (Alfred wasn't certain if he were disappointed or relieved about that) and the salt trucks had come in the night and cleared the roads. The dangerous winds had also died down, so the outside world looked like it had been delicately frosted with powdered sugar.

Katyusha made oatmeal for the three of them before she hurtled out the door for her classes and part-time job (someone needed to introduce this household to Captain Awesome cereal) and Ivan and Alfred followed after for school, the latter having a small sniffle. When they joined their friends, Alfred laughed uproariously about his little adventure, now that it was over and he had an eager and amused audience. One person, however, didn't look particularly happy.

"You slept over at Ivan-kun's house?" Kiku asked again while he and Alfred were at study hall. Ivan had gone off to get a drink of water.

Alfred shrugged, coughed and smiled nervously. "Uh, yeah. Katyusha was real sweet. I got the feeling that I was, uh, wanted at the house."

Kiku frowned, and Alfred marveled about the fact that he looked like a distraught baby panda. "Did you get any studying done?"

"Uh….not really." Alfred grinned sheepishly as Kiku buried his face in his hands. "Look, Kiku, I'm really sorry—"

"Alfred, you won't be able to graduate if you don't pass this class!" Kiku winced as a librarian shushed them, "Don't apologize to me. You'll have to come over to my place tonight and do some cramming, else I think you will be in bad trouble."

Alfred bit the inside of his lip. He really, really didn't want to admit it but Kiku certainly had a valid point. The problems Mr. Yao had assigned him looked like complete gibberish! His face fell, and Kiku said tentatively, "Mother and Father will not be too displeased with me if I miss _one_ cram session. I think I should put my focus on studying for my school exams now, so you can come over today after school and we will both study hard together. No distractions. I will make you study sheet."

A hint of hope entered Alfred's eye. "Really, buddy? You mean it?"

"Of course."

Alfred threw himself at his childhood best friend with a yelp of glee, and Kiku immediately squawked, looking at a loss. Thrashing around helplessly, his brown eyes wandered over to the library door, where Ivan was standing, frozen.

It was a stupid, immature thing to do, but Kiku was a highly competitive person and cast him a small smirk. Ivan smiled back pleasantly, though there was a now-crushed cranberry juice bottle in his hand _drip-drip-dripping_ on the floor.

~*oOo*~

Alfred had asked Kiku if Ivan could tag along, but the Asian seemed to forget his normal excellent manners, and hotly replied that his parents wouldn't want Ivan to stay over, considering they didn't know him very well. They studied for perhaps three and a half hours, and eventually got bored and started racing each other on Mario Wii. Alfred had forgotten just how much fun he'd had with Kiku—so much of his time was now devoted to the shy and awkward Ivan.

When he came home, still sneezing, there was a box of chocolate with his name on it waiting on the doorstep, alongside a note to get better soon.

The next day, the day before the exam and the day of Matthew's game, Alfred, Ivan, and Kiku were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder at the ice rink, despite the fact that there was still plenty of room on the stands. Flummoxed, Alfred tried to get more comfortable, but he only ended up elbowing both Kiku and Ivan, who were sandwiched between him. "Geez, guys, what the hell's with you? Give a guy some breathing room."

"_Hai_, Ivan-kun," said Kiku politely. "You are suffocating Alfred. Why don't you find a seat where you can stretch your ridiculously long legs?"

Ivan's laugh was positively dripping with honey, his purple-blue eyes bright. "Oh, I think I am fine, thank you for asking, Kiku. Perhaps you will want to get seat up front, where tiny people at least pretend they can see some of action."

Kiku smiled back and Alfred shuddered, despite the fact that he was wearing a long sports jacket and a pair of mittens. It was fucking freezing in here, and Alfred didn't think the cold emanated from the arena. Kiku awkwardly turned to him, looking concerned.

"Are you sure you should be here? We studied hard but test is tomorrow." Alfred didn't even notice; when Matthew and the others skated out onto the rink, the teen flew up, whooping and clapping his hands with the rest of the home fans. It took several minutes before Kiku could tug him back down. "I know how important this is to you, Alfred-san, but—"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Relax, dude," he remarked, clapping again when Matthew sent a practice shot hurtling away from the goal back to enemy territory. "The game ends at about six, if it doesn't go into overtime, which it probably won't, cause we kick ass. Mattie and his buds will go out to celebrate, and I'll just have to go home early and hit the books." He deflated somewhat. "But at least I still get to watch the game."

But in the second inning, disaster struck. The home team was in the lead, but one of the opposing players skated over to scream at Mattie at his post by the goal. Alfred's twin tensed as the player started cursing him out, and it was only by Ivan and Kiku's combined effort that they were able to keep Alfred from climbing over the plexiglass and into the arena. "Say that _one more time,_ you son of a bitch, say it again!"

Apparently the teen thought that actions spoke louder than words, because he brought his stick up high in the hair and struck Matthew upside the face before the boy could land in a good counterblow, normally superb reflexes failing with fatigue. The referee's whistle sounded and the irate man skated over, but the opposing player used his window of opportunity to rip off Mattie's mask and send the boy facedown on the ice with a sickening _crack_.

Mrs. Jones, who was sitting behind the three, nearly fainted.

~*oOo*~

In hindsight, Alfred wished that he had brought his skates; it would have made it so much easier to attack the creep instead of flailing on the ice in a fit of helpless rage. But Ivan walked across the arena if it were practically wood to promise the rogue player he could expect a visit from him very soon. Fat lot of good that did anyone, whatever it meant.

Each of Matthew's arms were thrown around the shoulder of two of his teammates as they carefully skated him to the sidelines where his family could pull off his gear; there was an ample amount of blood streaming down his remarkably swollen face, which had dark bruises blossoming across it. Much to Alfred's horror, the dazed teen was missing a few teeth.

They drove to the hospital without much preamble, and when Alfred was done with his strangled mix of obscenities, he started tearing up, and Ivan started wiping his tears, murmuring things in Russian while Kiku's hands tentatively brushed against Alfred's shoulders.

Ironically enough, Alfred seemed to be getting a whole lot more attention than Matthew, whose head was in Francis' lap.

When they got to the Emergency Room, there was some debate over whether or not Matthew qualified as a genuine "emergency" (Alfred would had loved to have had a bat on him so that he could show the pinko staff what a real emergency looked like), but after awhile they finally let him in, and Alfred, family, and friends were forced to sit and watch and wait. Alfred's textbook lay in his backpack, completely forgotten.

Hours later, Matthew was wheeled out, still looking dazed, certainly looking swollen, but he gave his loved ones a thumbs-up and a grin with missing teeth. He'd needed several stitches, had a nasty lump on his head, plenty of bruises, and three missing molars but he was okay.

"For God's sake, Alfred, stop crying," Mattie croaked impatiently after awhile. "Dude, and you call me a blubberface. At least we won!" he added, brightening considerably. "Not the way I'd like to win, but we were ahead anyway, so bygones."

"And you call ME an idiot."

By the time everyone started packing up to go home, the sun had risen and Alfred had dark shadows underneath his eyes while he pushed his brother's wheelchair out of the hospital, Matthew, Ismael, Ivan, and Kiku flanking him. All of a sudden, Alfred stopped dead.

"Aw, crap," Alfred croaked. "I forgot to study."

"Pretend to be sick," Ivan offered. "You are exhausted."

Alfred wearily shook his head.

"No. Only one day to take it."

~*oOo*~

He failed. Mr. Yao was one of those teachers who gave students alternating tests, so there was no chance of Ivan slipping answers (Test B) to Alfred (Test A) even if the teen wanted to cheat. To say the least, the test went horribly and after class Alfred went to the teacher to plead his case.

_"Please_, Mr. Yao," Alfred begged, hating how his voice cracked. "My brother was in an accident last night, and I was with him in the ER, you can ask my parents, I can bring in a note—"

"Alfred." The man interrupted. "I believe you. And I am sorry." He certainly didn't sound very sorry. "But it wouldn't be fair to the other students if I gave you another opportunity to take exam."

"Please." Alfred choked out. "I don't want to repeat senior year. I'm not a dumbass. I swear."

Mr. Yao shrugged and sighed. "Good day to you, Mr. Jones. See you next year."

~*oOo*~

When he staggered away, he was waiting. Ivan's hopeful immediately turned to one of pain.

"Alfredka…"

His arms were around him in an instant, and Alfred broke down, ashamed and exhausted and furious and hopeless.

"It will be alright," Ivan soothed, hugging him close. "Do not be the crying, Alfredka, is not end of world. Do not be sad."

At that, Alfred's shakes improved to sobs, and the Russian's brow creased to distress.

"Why? He knows how hard I've worked," Alfred wept, his voice cracking. "God, I'm such an idiot…such a _fucking_ idiot…"

"_Nyet."_ Said Ivan firmly, planting his chin atop of Alfred's head. "_Nyet, nyet,_ and _nyet_ again. Give Mr. Yao time to think this over. Am sure he will have some better news to give you Monday."

Alfred snorted, but without any real humor. "As if. The guy's a total stiff, he's never gonna let me slip through the cracks—"

"Oh, I think this time he will," said Ivan cheerfully, draping an arm around his tearful friend before guiding him down the hall.

"What makes you say that?" There was no spark to his words, no joy. Ivan's hand found his own again and squeezed.

"Have faith, **Солнышко****."**

~*oOo*~

He and Kiku got together for their promised playdate over the weekend, but Alfred's spirits were decidedly miserable. Did he wait to tell his parents before or after the letter came that he was a rotten failure? Kiku tried to cheer him up, but the weekend was nearly cheerless and Kiku looked very disappointed when he'd gone back home early.

Alfred had hung out with his injured brother most of the weekend, and though he enjoyed his time away from Ivan, missed him and sent him a text message. It turned out that Ivan and his sisters were going shopping in the city, so he wouldn't be back until Sunday evening.

"By the way, are you sure that Natalya Braginski goes to St. Sebastian's?" Mattie asked curiously while the two were watching TV.

"Pretty sure that's what Ivan told me."

"Well, I asked around and no one knows of a Natalya Braginski there, and it's a pretty small school. You should ask him again."

On Monday morning, Alfred hardly felt any better. He moved sluggishly-more so then custom-and could only pick at his food. He was picked up by Ivan, as per usual, though he only spoke in short, abrupt sentences that obviously had Ivan worried. The Russian attempted to cheer the young man up, but to not avail, much to his dismay. Alfred's eyes were dull and lifeless.

"Cheer up, **Голубка,****" said Ivan sadly as they pulled into the parking lot. "I get feeling things will be better at school, da?"**

**Alfred just grunted in response. He was set on autopilot for much of the day, unable to process what his teachers were saying, his attention drifting out to the gloomy threshold of early winter outside the windows. He didn't laugh or joke with his friends in the hallway. He didn't even smile. **

**Ivan looked pained, like a gardener who has walked out to find his blossoms covered in frost. **

**Right before lunch however, the intercoms crackled and a message came from the Dean: All students in Mr. Yao's classes were to come to the auditorium right away. Confused but still extremely depressed, Alfred and Ivan joined up with the crowds of mystified students who were simply happy for an opportunity to get out the classroom.**

**After sitting in the threadbare old seats, the murmuring students quieted as their Dean slowly advanced on stage, adjusting the microphone on his shirt. **

**"I have some bad news," he said simply, tucking his hands behind back like a child accused of wrongdoing. "Though I admit it will definitely be _good news_ for a good lot of you. While the school board is still desperate to get to the bottom of this, it is unlikely we will ever recover the records without Mr. Yao's help."**

**Students cast each other wondering looks. What in the world did he mean?**

**The Dean ran his fingers through his curly brown hair and groaned.**

**"Yes, well….one thing at a tim**e, I suppose….grades from your most recent final with Mr. Yao were about to be processed last night. But the submitted records have all been deleted."

A deathly pause as the students took a moment to process. Then, chaos: Some students exclaimed in joy, while others howled in rage, so many others jabbering. Dean Rome irritably tapped on his microphone to quiet everyone down.

"We could find no papers. We assumed this was just some sort of mistake on Mr. Yao's part, and we tried to phone him….to no avail. His wife announced that he went out shopping-"

"-probably to buy the latest Hello Kitty memorabilia-" whispered Ivan to Alfred's ear. Alfred didn't laugh this time. This was probably the worst attack of déjà vu he'd ever had.

"-last night, but never returned. His car was found parked on the road several miles away from here, engine still running. There was blood on the seats."

Silence again. The Dean smiled wistfully.

"I do not want rumors of Mr. Yao's abduction or murder to run about the school, but I do want to clarify that he is a missing person, and if you have any information pertaining to his whereabouts, we need you to step forward_ immediately_, as we expect you to do should you remember any relevant information pertinent to Arthur Kirkland's case. I will be holding another assembly with the rest of the school tomorrow to discuss this in further detail.

Concerning your grades, they are marked as they were at the very beginning of the year: As. We have been unable to recover any test papers or written scores that Mr. Yao had written down. They may change, however," said Mr. Rome warningly, "If Mr. Yao returns, which he hopefully will, safe and sound. We will keep trying to digitally recover your former scores, but as of yet, there are no promises. As of right now, you all have an 'A' as your final grade in Math."

Alfred sank in his seat, moving his trembling fingertips to his face. Ivan rubbed at his shoulders soothingly.

"See? What did I tell you?" he said gently. "Everything is fine, da? Aren't you happy?"

Alfred didn't know what to feel; he didn't know whether he should hug and kiss everyone in the vicinity and turn somersaults, or if he should fall to his knees. The situation with Mr. Yao sounded awfully serious, and Alfred definitely did not want to be cheering because the poor man was very likely hurt.

He forced a smile, still numb to the world, not noticing Ivan tenderly rubbing his neck.

Mr. Yao was missing. His grade was saved. His scholarship was definitely within reach now. He was out of the red zone, and had miraculously on the road again to graduation. Perfect. Just as easy as pie. Roadblock magically gone.

Roadblock magically _gone_. Like Arthur, Mr. Yao had vanished without warning. Without any suspicious behavior, they'd faded in thin air. Just gone.

Arthur had hurt Alfred and had been his rival for years. Years. And in a wink, after he'd physically injured Alfred, he was gone. Mr. Yao was gone _just _after he had failed Alfred.

Alfred's breathing picked up, and Ivan started to anxiously rub Alfred's shoulders, like a worried parent.

"Alfred? Alfred, you are okay, da? You are cold…do you need to go to the nurse's office?"

_The present on his front porch. The gifts in his locker._ Someone knew where he lived. Someone knew his locker combination.

"Lapushka?"

_Just a coincidence. A weird, wild coincidence. _

"Alfred, you are worrying me. Please speak."

Someone who knew someone was an obstacle in his way.

Oh, God, what was this?

~*oOo*~

* * *

***Faints***

**Hmm, I dunno. Could be that you have a stalker madly in love with you, Alfie. **

**Some things: The whole 'deletion of everyone's records' bit has actually happened before! Pretty unbelievable, but a middle school lost a very large portion of its database due to a clerical error. Hundreds of grades went out the window—there was some furious debate over what should be done, but the schoolboard in the end just decided to let everyone start over. Pretty crazy, huh? Like Ivan crazy! **

**I don't know how to do sex scenes. Sorry. **

**Next chapter: The Telltale Heart. We learn a bit more about Ivan, there's a lot of blood, and chocolate! Reviewers will get my love and endless gratitude!  
**


	4. The Telltale Heart

_~*The Telltale Heart*~_

**Hello, loves. You know, I did a term paper my freshman year of college about how Hello Kitty is pure evil. Yes, I was completely sober when I came up with the topic. **

**You might see some Catholic terminology in this chapter. I'm not Catholic, but I did get seven years of Catholic schooling, so I became familiar with a lot of the rites. However, if I'm rusty and you guys notice, don't hesitate to tell me. I promise I won't be offended.  
**

**Accidentally put some paragraphs in bold last chapter…not sure how that happened! :( Sorry. **

**Hope all is well and that you enjoy your dosage of craziness. Reviewers will get the Nekotalia of their choice.  
**

**Sidenote: The lovely Hyperkaoru made a doujinshi page for this story! :') Please check it out-the link's on my page. **

~*oOo*~

* * *

_"Ivan, y-you don't want to do this. T-trust me. It won't…" A heavy, pained swallow. "Get you a-anywhere." _

_In reply, the Russian lazily pressed the sharp end of the pipe against the back of the man's throat, and a second later a dark, ruby red pearl of blood appeared. He heard Yao stiffen, whimper something in Chinese, whine like a dog.  
_

_The tiny wound on Mr. Yao's neck slowly began to blossom, and a trickle of blood raced down his neck; a red tear. Ivan's pipe wandered away to the thumping pulse on Yao's thin neck, dark hair plastered to it with sweat. The pulse was fluttering so hard against the cold metal that he could feel it, imagined it calling out for the metal to plunge it through.  
_

_"I changed my mind," he said brightly, abstaining himself from prodding Wang Yao again. "You will get rid of all of them." _

_A sharp intake of breath. "ALL of them! Aiyah, you must be c-crazy! I can't possibly g-get rid of ALL—"_

_Ivan smiled with a saccharine sweetness, his reflection showing up in the computer screen over the shoulder of the terrified man staring directly at it. "Oh? Mr. Yao, you think I am crazy, da?" _

_"I...I didn't..."  
_

_"Oh, but you are not first person to say so," the younger man said seriously. "Nor will you be last, I think. But what you call mad, I call being honest. I am not like rest of you, not because I am justice, but because I am not hypocrite. But, if you truly want to see a terminology of 'crazy...'"  
_

_"N-no…." Yao choked on a dry sob. "I…Ivan, this...this is a **mistake**—" _

_The Russian raised his pipe and Mr. Yao let out a shriek, cowering as Ivan struck down a Hello Kitty lamp that had been resting on the desk, shattering it. "Hey! That was a gift!"_

___Smirking, Ivan's pipe soared back against Mr. Yao's throat, and suddenly the man found that he had far more to worry about than his collectibles._  


_"I am growing impatient. Do as I say and it won't hurt. As much." _

_Tears brimming in his honey brown eyes, the man reluctantly typed in the password to his computer. "Why? You did well on the exam, Ivan. Why are you doing this? Your future will be in ruins." _

_He chose not to answer, his gaze wandering instead to the tiny electronic clock in the corner of the computer. Damn it all, he didn't have much time left if he wanted to pick up that little brat as he walked home from practice...and he'd really rather do only one garbage run this weekend. Ivan watched Yao sullenly begin his work, and wondered if frightening him would help or impede his work.  
_

___Ivan wasn't accustomed to working with deadlines per say, although in Russia he occasionally liked to set one for himself. _Just how quickly could he lure his prey into his parlor?_ It was fun to find out; his fastest time had been about forty-three seconds—he usually made it a point to keep a clock somewhere nearby during the appointment. Knocking his prize unconscious usually didn't take very long, though it depended on whether or not Ivan were using drugs or a good old-fashioned knock to the head with his pipe. _

_____Sometimes, if circumstances allowed and his hatred unbearable, he didn't bother sedating his victims at all before their big trip. He would simply truss them up in a bag and take them where they needed to go, listening to them scream and squeal and beg and thrash around like a pig to the slaughter. It made Ivan's senses raw and icy, heightening his clarity, _heightening his pleasure, like enjoying a fine wine before a sweet dessert—the sweet dessert being him smashing his victims to death with his pipe. 

___Some guests were gracious and provided him with extra entertainment, depending on Ivan's mood and just _what_they deserved. Tonight would be fantastic, ripe with the frosty bubbliness of a carbonated beverage and with the importance of a religious ceremony, because it was for _Alfred.

Alfred_. His sweet, precious human sunflower. _

___Heart softening with tenderness, Ivan nonetheless snarled_ and jabbed the metal instrument again against Yao's shoulder _when he saw the man try to open his email account. "Now, now, none of that or your wife will be decorating that ridiculous pink tree with your intestines instead of tinsel." _  


_"Alright, alright," Mr. Yao cried hastily, clicking back onto the school database. "I am deleting records now—please don't hurt me!" _

_Eyes narrowing, he watched the percentages start disappearing, one by one. The electronic egg timer on the computer was twisting round and round as slowly, every name and letter began to disappear, passing through the alphabet. When the scanner deleted the entire section of Js, Ivan let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, pleased. _

_He supposed it would have been enough to just force the man to change Alfred's grade, but it was too risky. Considering how many times Yao had chewed Alfred out in the middle of class, Ivan knew more than a few people would be suspicious at the fact that the boy's near-failing grade miraculously turned into an A just after Yao's disappearance. _

_And Yao _would_ have to vanish. Unfortunate, but Ivan couldn't bring himself to care all that much. The man had made Alfred cry, and so he had to go. _

_Mr. Yao leaned back in his seat, hands over his eyes as the system continued to wipe the gradebook clean, reverting it to the "first day of school" stage. Ivan watched it work for a moment or so, silent._

_He'd dropped off a tearful Alfred just two days ago, watched how cheerlessly Alfred had gone inside. He'd given Ivan a halfhearted wave before closing the door, his face a painful, miserable mask.  
_

_That look had all but broken Ivan's heart. _

_He'd all but floored the accelerator back to his place, the gears in his mind whirring in motion. His arrangements had taken two days to finish—dear, sweet, stupid Katyusha as always swallowed his lies and agreed to do what she was told—and now it was time for the coup de grace. _

_When the computer confirmed that all records had been deleted, Ivan nodded approvingly. "You are quite sure this has worked? Because, if not…."_

_"I told you already, it is done," snapped Mr. Yao. "I've deleted everyone's history in my class and thoroughly disgraced myself, thank you very much." _

_Ivan raised an eyebrow and looked out the window. Snow was falling outside…he wondered if he and Alfred could make another snowman sometime that week. It would be Christmas soon. _

_Mr. Yao was staring listlessly at his shoes as Ivan's free hand wandered towards his pocket. "I don't think Jones is at all type to put you up to this, but you are doing him no favor, Ivan. No favor. W-whatever you do to me, the truth will be discovered someday and both of you will be in serious trouble. Alfred will hate you forever for this."_

_The Russian patted him on the back. "Believe whatever you want to believe. You're still a dead man."_

_And with that, Ivan plunged a syringe into Mr. Yao's back. The man opened his mouth in a silent scream, his eyes bulging out like a panicked fish's as his hands pawed uselessly at the small of his back, trying to dislodge the needle—and then the teacher crumpled to his knees with a groan before hitting the ground, unconscious. _

_Adjusting the Santa Claus cap he wore on his head—Ivan thought it were appropriate for the occasion—he grabbed the motionless Mr. Yao's legs and dragged him into a sack, glancing up at a Hello Kitty clock that hung on the wall. From what he managed to make out from Mrs. Yao's schedule, she would be home soon from her elementary school classroom, done from decorating her kindergarten room for her students' holiday party the next day. _

___Did Ivan wait for her? He paused and thought for a moment. As far as he was concerned, she was guilty by association, but…..he shrugged as he headed towards the door, throwing his sack over his shoulder like a peddler. No. Let the little ones have their party. If she proved to be a problem later on—and Ivan was certain she wouldn't—it wouldn't be hard to find this place again. He'd simply followed Mr. Yao home on Friday night via vehicle, although, truth be told, if Ivan wanted to save himself the trouble he could just have easily driven up and down the streets looking for the house covered in the Hello Kitty Christmas lights. At least the place didn't have any alarms. Ivan so did dislike alarms._

_"Goodbye, Kitty," he sang as he carefully closed the door shut with gloved fingers—no fingerprints—and locked the door, sliding the key back under the Hello Kitty mat. He headed to his vehicle, which tonight had been "borrowed." In the off-chance someone saw him at this dead hour, he didn't need anyone catching his actual license plate number. Ivan dragged Mr. Yao down the steps, noting with some interest that a little blood had appeared at the corners. _

_Humming a carol to himself, his breath appearing in puffs in the chilly wintry air, Ivan tossed his teacher in the back of his van before heading to the front seat, buckling himself in. _

_Alfred was going to be fine now. He smiled.  
_

_Now, he had to visit a certain ice rink, and then the evening's entertainment would begin. He thought he might get some hot chocolate along the way…it was getting a little cool out, even for him._

~*oOo*~

As soon as the assembly ended, Alfred was out the door before most people were out of their seats. The dean barked disapprovingly at him, but he bolted out the double doors nonetheless, hearing the unmistakable sounds of Ivan rushing after him, path stymied by several students pooling out the door.

"Alfredka? Alfredka, are you alri—"

"Bathroom!" Alfred hollered back, clapping a hand over his mouth as he raced down the halls, blindly stumbling, banging into a few lockers on his way. His stomach rolled and fear beat out a frantic rhythm on his heart as he at last reached the men's restroom and ran in, immediately locking himself into a stall, knees giving out on him.

For a moment, the boy just stared at the slightly dusty floor, trembling. Somewhere a faucet was dripping, echoing in the empty room. He longed to be sick—couldn't. His backpack sagged from his limp shoulders next to him, its messy contents spilling out. Alfred didn't take any notice.

_Blood on the car seat. _

A perfect grade. Why wasn't he happy? Well, no friggin' duh, Mr. Yao was….Alfred bit the inside of his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut, trying his damndest not to make a noise.

Uncertain and scared, he picked up one of the books he'd read for Literature—well, okay, it had gotten really obscure and depressing so he'd just read the Wikipedia synopsis—Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Alfred let a finger run over its spine, shivering.

_Arthur first….and then Mr. Yao_…..**no! **

He flung the book away from, sending it flying underneath the seam.

Well, okay, he hadn't liked Arthur at all. Arthur was a mean, snotty little kid and a mean, snotty teenager—a nasty little snob who loved to play dirty. Mr. Yao hadn't been the most helpful of teachers, losing his patience whenever Alfred had gone to him for help and couldn't understand a concept, rigid and sometimes unfair in his grading—but hell, he didn't want anyone to _die_! Even in his subconscious, he was fairly certain he could never kill someone….unless that hockey jerk counted, though Alfred saw himself dislocating the creep's nose and breaking some ribs rather than actually_ murdering_ the guy…..

He rocked back and forth from where he knelt, his clammy, shaking hands tangling in his hair.

Weren't people like Dr. Jekyll supposed to wind up in messed-up places without any memory of what had gone on? Alfred woke up every morning in his bed (except when he fell asleep on the sofa watching TV), so he was fairly…_positive_ he couldn't be the killer….

_Now hold the phone,_ a squeaky, panicky voice in his head interrupted. _Who said anything about murder? Arthur and Mr. Yao could show up any time now, right as rain. Dude, you read way too many fucking creepy comic books. _

But what if there _was_ a killer, someone out to destroy Alfred's enemies? If it wasn't Alfred himself, it would have to be someone who _knew_, who was somehow _involved_….

That only left….

Alfred bit the inside of his lip so hard it hurt, his fingernails digging into his palms.

_No._ It was impossible.

_Was it?_

From underneath the sill of the stall, Alfred saw a pair of familiar boots stride into the bathroom. Eyes widening in panic, he caught his shout in his throat and stuffed it back down.

"Alfredka? Alfredka, are you in here?"

He sounded worried. But Alfred kept his mouth shut and remained rooted in his corner, not daring to breathe.

Ivan was like a teddy bear, albeit an enormous teddy that you never asked for, looked weird amongst your other stuffed animals, and followed you around everywhere, but he was so _nice._ He blushed when people made fun of his accent or his appearance, seemed so _happy _and _grateful _when Alfred defended him.

_He had scratches on his arm after that one weekend, the weekend Arthur just….vanished. He said he was taking out the garbage._

_But he was giving his cat a bath_, Alfred argued with himself as the boots wandered away down the aisle of stalls. _It's not like Franklin didn't nearly rake you alive while you pouring tomato juice all over him. C'mon, Jones, remember the time you thought your neighbors were friggin' aliens from outer space? _

"Alfred?" The teen heard again, this time from a different voice. Slightly ashamed of himself, Alfred silently exhaled nonetheless—Kiku. A pair of small tennis shoes appeared next to Ivan's large boots.

"I saw Alfred run in here. You ran after him. What's wrong? Did you say something to him?" Kiku sounded all kinds of suspicious.

Ivan scoffed, though there was a strange edge of hysteria to his voice.

"We were at assembly…the principal talked of blood and Mr. Yao's disappearing…I think Alfred got sick." How could such a worried, wondering tone belong to a _killer_?

But then his memory fell back to a pair of hands cupping his face.

_"Some are just…lovelier than others, da?" The touching. The way Ivan had looked at him, the bizarre dream of someone _sucking_ on him—_

Alfred hiccupped, and immediately cried out when a purple eye appeared at the door crack, staring at him. The eye widened when Alfred buried his face in his hands, and Ivan immediately leapt for the door, pulling it with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. The three boys started back when the door slid off one of its hinges with a loud _creak_, leaving a crouching, ashen Alfred exposed, shaking like mad.

An awkward pause. Kiku finally cleared his throat.

"That was little extreme."

Ivan stared down at Alfred's trembling form for a moment before bending down to help him up, but the young man yelped and instantly recoiled.

"No!" Alfred exclaimed, rolling away from Ivan's hands. "Don't touch me!"

Silence again. Shivering, Alfred dared to look at the Russian and his heart tumbled straight into his stomach. Ivan looked _bewildered. _

_Scared. _

_Hurt. _

_Concerned. _

That couldn't mean….

"I-I mean, I'm contagious, Ivan," he said apologetically, swaying slightly. "Ya don't wanna touch me and get sick. I…I think I'm about ready to throw my cookies," he confessed, pressing his face to the floor with a soft groan. "Just hearing about that crap with Mr. Yao made me think of stuff in slasher movies, and…"

"Alfred-kun, you look horrible," the Japanese boy interrupted, equal amounts of confusion and concern on his face. The blond shrugged miserably, bile stinging the back of his throat.

_Arthur Kirkland lying facedown in a puddle of blood. Mr. Yao crumpled on the ground with his neck twisted all the way around, like an owl's._ Alfred immediately threw his head over the toilet just in time to hurl his dinner back up. He felt hands patting at his back and shivered as he threw up once, twice, and then dry-heaved, his stomach aching, still shaking, still burning and cold all at once.

"Kiku, I'm real sorry man, but can you take me home?" he croaked, wiping his mouth and putting on his best puppy pout expression. Kiku looked surprised, but nodded. He seemed slightly pleased.

"Of course, Alfred. I would be happy to."

Immediately, Ivan knelt down next to Alfred again. It took all of his willpower not to roll away "I will take you."

Alfred blanched. The boy's voice had no questioning tone in it, and it struck him with panic. "H-ha! Iv, ya got another final next period, remember?" _Thank God, thank God he had a rational excuse for Ivan not to take him home_. "U-uh, I already finished my project, so I can just skip class and go home early. Kiku's already finished too, so it might as well be him who takes me. Don't want you to get in trouble, big guy." Alfred forced himself to smile. It felt painful. "I…I don't think another teacher's gonna disappear and grant you an easy A." Oh, did he feel like puking again.

Ivan smiled, but his eyes were tight. Alfred shivered.

"And what if you collapse and little mouse cannot carry you? Nyet, I will take you home now, while is still study hall."

"I am not little mouse!" Kiku spat at Ivan. "Just because I am not freak like you does not mean—"

"Whoa, whoa, chill out, guys!" Alfred exclaimed in a panic, throwing his hands in the air. "Look, if you keep this up I'm gonna puke again. Iv, I narrowly missed the chopping block, so I don't want you to risk it. Please?" he begged, making himself to look Ivan straight in the eyes, though he still trembled when Ivan's large hands covered his own. "Not a huge deal." He gently pulled his hands out of Ivan's grip and stepped beside Kiku. "I'm a big boy. Not weak or wimpy at all."

Ivan still did not look happy, but he seemed resigned. "I will come over today after school. Bring soup. And Vodka."

"Alfred's too young to drink," Kiku said angrily. "Are you trying to get him in trouble?"

The sick teen groaned, his fingertips massaging his aching temples. "He means his cat, Kiku. C'mon, buddy. Let's blow this joint."

Kiku was more than happy to oblige, pausing to give Ivan a scathing look before reaching up to wrap an arm around Alfred's shoulders. Ivan smiled at Kiku's backward glance at him.

Oh, he almost wished that the Asian would do something to hurt Alfred. Then Ivan could start plotting his grave. But so long as Honda kept his fingers to himself and Alfred was happy, Ivan could do nothing. It was a lovely idea, nailing Kiku to a wall and listening to him screech, but Alfred liked him too much. Would certainly miss him if he were gone.

And he knew what would happen if he strayed from his laws. Chaos. Complete and total chaos. Practically everyone surrounding Alfred would be open game, and Ivan would want to kill them all. He would slip up, get caught, and his sunflower would be without a caretaker.

Still smiling, his fists nonetheless shook.

Damn, damn, damn. It was a shame Ivan hadn't kept the little rat who'd hurt Matthew alive. He would have loved something to take his frustration out on.

* * *

~*oOo*~

"Please don't throw up in my car, Al-chan," said Kiku anxiously as the two pulled out of the parking lot in his Toyota.

Alfred just grunted and held his schoolbag close. "No promises, good buddy, but I'll try not to." He sighed and leaned his head back against the leather seat, his face gleaming with a slight sweat. "God, I haven't felt this horrible in…ever."

"Soup and bedrest. Then you will be better."

"I dunno about that," Alfred admitted, leaning his head between his knees, staring at nothing.

"Surely you are overreacting? Is just a—"

"Kiku, I'm really scared."

The Japanese boy did not say a word, but he pulled over to the side of the road. He tentatively touched Alfred on the shoulder. "Alfred? What are you scared of?"

It seemed so ridiculous, now that he had another person around to hear his theory. Kiku would probably laugh and call it silly. But maybe that was what he needed. Someone to tell him he was being ridiculous.

"Kiku…Arthur was a real creep. Always around. Every day," Alfred admitted. "And then the guy disappears just right after he nearly breaks my ankle. And I…I failed that test with Mr. Yao, and now the guy's just…gone. B-blood on the seat." He immediately cranked down the window just in case he needed to throw up again. It seemed very possible that he could, considering how much his stomach was churning. "And someone keeps leaving me these notes in my locker and all these little presents. I mean, it's really nice and all, but now I'm getting royally freaked out. Someone left me candy on my freaking doorstep. This person…knows where I live? What if they've been watching me? What if—"

"Ivan is the killer?" asked Kiku, his face impassive as Alfred jumped. "I was beginning to think so."

Alfred shook his head. "No…I….I never said it could be Ivan. The guy barely knows me. He's not going to commit stinkin' murder because of me!"

"I think a lot of people would," Kiku said gently, his face pinking like a radish when Alfred gave him a confused look. "But do you have any proof?"

"Uh, well…he likes to hang around a lot…."

"If you went by that evidence, anyone could be the killer. I could be the killer. If there is one. Chances are this is all bizarre coincidence, but I don't think that is case. I have a real bad feeling about Ivan, Alfred. I think you should stay away from him."

Alfred bit his lip. "Yeah, but….he's so much like…a little kid. I think he would be really hurt."

"He is big boy," said Kiku sharply as he restarted the engine and drove back onto the road. "A big boy who is very possibly threatening people around you. Alfred, stay away from him. If you get any kind of evidence on him at all, you turn him in at once."

Alfred shifted in his seat. Yeah, he kind of had the feeling Ivan could maybe, sort of kill people if angry enough, but now that seemed kind of stupid, like pointing at a lamb and calling it a murderer. His naturally rebellious side was also flaring up at Kiku's order. Who was Kiku to tell him what to do? Alfred would hang out with whoever he wanted to.

"Better not hug me," he said jokingly when Kiku went up the driveway. "I'm all contagious and what have you."

He was surprised and admittedly a little touched when Kiku hugged him anyway, as if he were not a boy who tolerated hugs the way he did booster shots. "I think is just nerves. I have to go, Alfred-kun, but when you feel better we will play lots of video games and go Christmas shopping."

Alfred smiled, still a little woozy but feeling a bit better. He hugged Kiku back.

"Yeah….sounds good. Thanks, man."

He waved his best friend goodbye, and then went inside the house. Matthew was hanging out in the living room, sitting bandaged in an easy chair with a Sports Illustrated magazine in his lap. He looked up when his brother all bust crash-landed on the couch, face buried in a pillow. "Hey, you're home early. I give your presentation a 6 out of 10. Gotta work on being even more boneless than you already are."

Alfred blindly reached for a pillow and threw it behind him, hoping it hit his brother.

"Mattie," he asked anxiously, looking up. "If I were running around k-killing people in my sleep, you would tell me, right?"

His twin looked up from the article he'd been reading, managing an exasperated look even in his face's sore and sorry state.

"Oh, Al, what have you been watching now? Or is it that Dr. Jekyll book? Because if it is—"

"It's not that!" Alfred snapped. "Just…did you hear the news about Mr. Yao? He's gone!"

"Read about it in the news," said Matthew dully, awkwardly reaching for a newspaper at his feet and wincing. "Get it yourself, Alfred—my ribs hurt too much to throw. Bro, your trashed room is right next door to mine, remember? I'd be able to hear if you got up in the middle of the night and axed someone." Matthew didn't notice Alfred's wincing at his word choice. "Besides, I'm almost certain you could never kill someone."

"'Almost?'"

"You seemed pretty close to killing me when I drew those mustaches on your Yankees' poster."

"Hell, you shoulda been arrested for that," Alfred snapped, eyes scanning down the newsprint until he got to the small caption "Forty-two year old man disappears." Gulping, he started to read. "Says here that his car was sitting in the middle of the street, lights still on and tires blown out….blood on the seats appeared at about seven pm-ish. Uh, where was I at seven last night?"

Matthew sighed. "Drowning your misery in a milkshake in front of the TV. Whatever did or didn't happen to Mr. Yao is awful, but at least your grade's going to be fine…providing he doesn't show up soon," he added uncertainly. Alfred still looked miserable, afraid. "You failed a test—it's not like you physically hurt the man. Al, trust me when I say you don't have a mean bone in your body, and definitely not a murderous one. I think I'd know if you had Dissociative Identity Disorder, so stop being so silly."

Alfred smiled a little at that, but it faded away to a sigh. A furry white head peeked his head into the living room, saw that Alfred and Matthew were home, and merrily zipped in, hopping onto a spare chair to the coffee table before leaping into Alfred's lap. The teen smiled as Franklin mewed anxiously for attention, arching his back as his master started to scratch it. For a little while, the room was quiet, filled with the sound of Franklin purring.

"My stalker," he said quickly, pulling out a slightly crumpled card from his pocket. "Another love poem today, telling me to feel better. It had a few flowers drawn on it, and one of those was a sunflower. Iv loves drawin' sunflowers." He took a deep breath.

"I think Ivan's the killer."

Matthew burst out laughing at that, but it quickly died away when his ribs started throbbing. Alfred glared at him.

"What?! What's so funny?"

Matthew just shook his head, eyes watering with tears of pain and laughter.

"A killer. Really. Al, If Ivan's a killer, then I'll marry a cow. I know how strange it is that both Mr. Yao and Arthur had some kind of beef with you, but I think we'd know if Ivan were really that deranged." A troubled look appeared on his face. "Well, actually….but forget it. Iv's not a killer. Hell, we don't even know if there's even been any actual _killing_ done!"

"But he said he was going into the city on Sunday…." Alfred faltered. "And you were the one so worried about my secret admirer back when it was cute instead of creepy."

"Lots of people go into the city over the weekend," Matthew reminded him, propping himself up on his elbows. "We're going ourselves this Friday to do our Christmas shopping. And doesn't the fact that he was in the city prove that he wasn't in town to cut people into bits?"

"Hello," said Ivan cheerfully, and Alfred fell off the couch, swearing. His twin whipped his head around and cringed with pain, gritting his teeth and hissing as the Russian strode into the room, accompanied by a beaming Mrs. Jones.

"It's nice you boys got out early today! Alfred, congratulations on your test score. I'm so proud of you."

"Uh" was Alfred's only response as Mrs. Jones strode across the room to the nearby stairs, turning around with a dry look on her face, hands on her hips. "Ivan came by to say hello…and volunteered to fold the laundry. Maybe you two should follow his example, eh?"

"Geez, Mom, why don't ya just trade the two of us in for Ivan?" Matthew asked teasingly as Mrs. Jones headed up the stairs. "Uh, hey, Ivan," he said shyly, his hands wringing the blanket on his lap. "We were just talking about that new Dexter show on TV. I think Deborah's boyfriend is the Ice Truck Killer, But Al disagrees. Um, what's up?"

Alfred wondered if he could run up the stairs without throwing up. "Iv, you had a test…."

The Russian shrugged carelessly, sinking onto the couch next to Alfred. "I already had A in that class. If I do not take final, I will have B. It really doesn't matter to me, so I took day off."

"But I'm sick," Alfred faltered. "And poor Mattie's been wounded. You could catch pneumonia or…cry, looking at Mattie's hamburger face."

"When I can move again, I'm going to get you, Alfred."

"I think I will survive," Ivan said with a laugh, putting a basket he'd been holding onto the table. "I dropped by my apartment right quick and got a few things. Katyusha hopes you feel better soon, Alfred. And same to you, Matthew," he added politely, reaching inside the steaming basket and pulling out a star-shaped sweet. "She made you these...they are a sort of Russian sugar cookie we eat back home. I am also to tell you two that you are welcome at our home anytime and to take it easy for while." He sighed happily, and Franklin eagerly moved from Alfred's lap to Ivan's sniffing hungrily at the still-warm dough. Ivan patted him affectionately as Franklin's pink tongue moved up and down over it. "Is Christmas break now, so it is very good news! I'm so happy."

"Yum," Matthew said happily as Ivan tossed him a cookie—in the literal sense of course. Alfred just swallowed and looked away.

No. He would not be swayed by the treacherous powers of a cookie. Ivan couldn't get him to join the dark forces that easily.

A soft meowing came in from the kitchen, and Ivan looked up, startled. "Oh! I nearly forgot Vodka's carrier…I brought him over today to meet Franklin. Be right back." And with that, he got up and left the room.

Munching appreciatively on the cookie, Matthew turned to his wan-looking brother and raised an eyebrow.

"Al, c'mon. Do you really think a guy who brings his best friend's injured brother cookies is that bad a person?"

Alfred smiled in spite of himself when Ivan came back in, holding a small carrier. Vodka's purple eyes peeked out at him, a gentle and sleepy purple hue, so much like his master's. Done licking his cookie, Franklin leapt off the couch and wandered over, sniffing curiously at the cage front while Vodka sniffed him in turn. Ivan let him out.

"I think your kitty likes him," Ivan said cheerfully as he opened the cage and Franklin tackled the surprised visitor, pawing playfully at his front. The two started to kick and nip at each other for a few moments before the long-haired feline rolled them both over, purring happily at he licked at Franklin's ears. The white cat was squirming and yowling underneath Vodka, but didn't seem to actually mind being stuck under him. Suddenly, Ivan's cheeks were dusted a light pink.

"O-oh. Um, I think Vodka likes him even more."

"No! Bad kitties!" Alfred scolded, pulling Franklin out from a mewing black furball, who started headbutting Alfred's leg, as if in protest. "No cat sodomy in the house! If you two are gonna be like that, then get a room."

"Wanna put on something?" Matthew asked, chuckling slightly as he stiffly reached for the remote.

~*oOo*~

Of course, what his brother felt like watching just so happened to be Darkly Dreaming Dexter. The show about a psychopath killer.

Someday, some way, Mattie was going to pay for this.

Alfred hid his face in the closest thing he could find when the protagonist stabbed someone in the neck, which just so happened to be Ivan's shoulder.

Fantasy or reality. His nerves tingled with dread. He couldn't decide which was worse.

While Vodka and Franklin snuggled up on Alfred and Ivan's laps, Matthew fell asleep in his chair, magazine still on his lap. Damn. Now Alfred was sort of all alone, if you didn't count his mother upstairs or Matthew right next to him….the teen remained stiff as a board from where he sat on the couch, with Ivan's arm thrown around the back of it, thankfully not quite touching him.

"So, uh, what did you guys do in the city yesterday?" he asked, wincing at just how squeaky his voice was.

"Oh! We went to new art museum opening," Ivan said cheerfully, pulling a ticket stub out of his pocket for Alfred to look at. "My sisters and I. Was very nice—we saw new art exhibits for first half of day, and then other half of day we shop." He pulled out his phone, flicked through a few images, and showed Alfred a picture of a smiling Katyusha next to a pretty blue sculpture. The date and time of the picture was marked in the corner of the electronic photo—_Sunday, at 12 p.m. _

The Russian continued. "Natalya ran off with some friends of hers, however," he added, rolling his eyes. "She is very rebellious and very ashamed to be seen with us, I think. She wants to seem like…how do you say it? _Pop-u-lar_," he said awkwardly, struggling over the strange word. "She wants to wear jeans and listen to loud rock music and she is almost never home these days. Katyusha says this is stage she will grow out of, but is tiring all same."

Dumbfounded, Alfred blinked, turning the used ticket stub over in his hands before handing it back to Ivan. That was a perfectly rational explanation for why he'd never seen Natalya himself, but…."Uh, what does she look like again? I forgot," he lied.

Maybe the reason Mattie never saw her at St. Sebastian's was because Ivan lied.

Maybe she was….gone.

Ivan went through his photos, and showed Alfred one of a tall girl with dirty blonde hair and dark eyes. Pretty though she was, there was an unfriendly frown on her face—it was a grownup version of the little girl Alfred had seen in Ivan's picture. Still alive.

The Russian's chuckle brought him out of his reverie. "She never did like taking pictures. Every time we try to take a picture of her smiling, she gives us big scowl. Even when she was small, no pictures. So we stopped trying—that is why you do not see so many of her on our living room wall."

Also a totally rational explanation. Slightly off-put, Alfred fidgeted a little. "Aw, sorry man. Hopefully she'll come around for her wedding pics." He wondered why Ivan wrinkled his nose. "So, uh, what time did you guys get back last night?"

"Well, train was late and so we did not get home until nine. We are trying not to use gas so much, because is so expensive."

_Nine._ Forensics said the bloodstains appeared at seven. Either Ivan could be in several different places at once, or Alfred was the biggest, most blown-up, suspicious jerk in all of history. "Oh." He sighed and looked back towards the TV screen, Vodka still cuddled close to him. For the first time in several hours, he found himself relaxing into the pillows, into the warmth beside him.

"Iv?"

"Da?"

"What do you think of Mr. Yao just….disappearing? Like, poof?"

Still scratching a purring Franklin behind the ears, Ivan let out a big sigh.

"To be honest, I think is very unfortunate that he is missing and that he could be hurt. But," he added, smiling down gently at Alfred. "Another side of me is guilty, because you have A in class now and all is well. I just wish it could have come other way." He sighed again. "His poor wife must be very, very worried. What awful thing to happen just before Kreestmus time."

Maybe it really just was all a coincidence. Ivan really was one of the nicest guys he'd ever met. But he needed to be sure…"It says here his car was found at about seven thirty at night…the blood fell on the seat at about seven-ish. Why do you think he was bleeding?"

Ivan thought for a moment.

"He could have car accident," he said, scratching behind Franklin's ear. "Had accident and hit himself in head, got concussion. Got confused, and stumbled out of car." Ivan worried at his bottom lip. "In that case….I very much hope that someone found him before he collapsed in woods or in ditch. He might freeze to death that way. Or perhaps not even his own blood," he added blandly. "The situation could be stranger than we know."

Alfred was startled by how completely plausible that sounded. Ivan had concrete proof of his innocence; he'd had a receipt of his time in the city during the…whatever it was, had a picture on his phone to back it up, as well as a picture of his not-dead sister. Alfred smiled in relief, weariness breaking over him.

He remembered something Matthew had told him when he'd first complained of Ivan being so close to him:

_Ivan's culture might be a little more touchy-feely then American culture, Al. Give Ivan a break. I read Russians have smaller 'space bubbles' than Americans do._

He felt Ivan rubbing his shoulder and squirmed uncomfortably.

Well…it felt weird….but he could live with it for a few more months before he went off to college. Besides, weren't stalker-killers supposed to be deranged, breathing-into-your-phone-at-the-dead-of-night, chainsaw-wielding maniacs?

Alfred closed his eyes. No. Matthew was right. Just a big, stupid coincidence. Ivan wasn't coming onto him, wasn't a killer. _Everything's alright. _With that happy thought, he slid into a peaceful slumber within a matter of minutes, for the first time in days.

Ivan watched him drift off, sighing in relief as he cradled the sleeping teen and his purring cat to him, Vodka curling around Franklin. _At least Katyusha can do what she's told_.

He'd briefly considered the possibility of this happening, so he'd sent Katyusha into the city for the day, gave her the ticket for the museum opening and told her to have her picture taken with his phone. Alfred just wouldn't understand if he knew the truth, and Ivan wouldn't risk losing him for anything. His alibi would not fail him.

The Russian turned his eyes back to the TV, though his attention kept straying back to Alfred. After a few seconds, he started patting the teen's side, smiling slightly as he buried his face in his love's hair, inhaling.

Oh, God, but to be able to touch him _that way_ again! He knew that evening during the storm he ought to have stayed away from his sweet little bird, should have been content to watch from a distance, but Alfred had invited and it was so wonderful being pressed up against his tantalizing form….

He shook his head regretfully.

If only Matthew wasn't here. If only Alfred wouldn't wake up before Ivan got temporarily satiated of adoring his beautiful body….

Suddenly, Ivan gasped, his heart beginning to pound, mouth drying.

_The syringe_. Though they were sometimes difficult to get his hands on from Katyusha's workplace, Ivan made it a point to keep a sedative on him at all times...in his backpack….

Pulling Franklin off of him, leaving the two cats to cuddle in the warm spot Ivan left behind—he very carefully stood up, tiptoed across the room, turned off the television. Very slowly unzipped his backpack, kept throwing furtive glances at both boys, both of whom were still breathing deeply, easily.

_Stay like this, please…._

Once his hand curled around the box, Ivan slowly slid the needle out and advanced across the room, his purple eyes wild, needy. Silently, he approached Alfred, very carefully pulling the cap off the needle and slowly pressing down on the top, watching fluid squirt out the sterilized needle. In a flash, the needle was poking against one of Alfred's arm, against a vein. Ivan slowly pressed down and the appendage slipped into his darling's skin, the sedative quickly being absorbed into his body.

Alfred stirred, brow furrowing. He grunted, rolling slightly, blue eyes sleepily opening, blinking a few times. Puzzled, he turned to look at his arm, but drowsiness was already rolling over him in waves. With a sleepy murmur, his eyes closed again and Ivan tenderly scooped him up into his arms before quickly and quietly stealing the unconscious Alfred up the stairs, his hands wavering.

~*oOo*~

_So beautiful. _

Ivan slammed Alfred's door with his back, breathing heavily as he strode across the room, dropping Alfred on the bed and crawling after him, one of his great hands cupping the sleeping boy's cheek. Beaming, he pressed his lips against Alfred's forehead and slowly inched down to his nose, Eskimo kissing him and watching the American warily. Alfred did not stir.

Pleased and testing his limits, his hands slipped underneath Alfred's T-shirt, rubbing smooth skin. Ivan's eyes rolled as he started playing with the sensitive buds on the teen's chest, feeling them rise and harden against his touch. Breathing heavily, he hastily stripped Alfred of his shirt, his eyes raking over the view they took in—last time he'd gotten to touch him, the two had been under cover of darkness. But now Alfred was being straddled, completely exposed and vulnerable under Ivan's piercing gaze. His warm, starving hands clamped themselves over the boy's ribs and dragged their way across Alfred's body, marveling as goosebumps erupted in their wake.

Groaning, Ivan bent his head and started biting and suckling Alfred's stomach, clutching onto him tightly as his head wandered down, down, down, craving as much of the boy's velvety flesh that he could possibly taste.

Alfred's head lolled to the side, and Ivan stopped at his navel at the sight, grinning and slowly gliding his way back up in a smooth, sensual stroke with his hot tongue. Without thinking, he started attacking the flesh there with all the enthusiasm of a starved tiger, sucking and moaning and whispering in Russian against the pulse that beat so sweetly against Ivan's lips. He thought he saw Alfred twitch slightly, his face flushing. Adorable.

_Mine, mine, mine, mine._

With some reluctance, he removed his lips from the mark he'd left, lifted up Alfred's legs, and immediately stripped him of his pants, leaving Alfred only in his boxers before immediately pressing their clothed erections together, still playing with one of the rosy buds on Alfred's chest with his fingertips.

He gasped and smiled when he felt Alfred's hardness. Draping Alfred's legs around his hips, he feverishly bit and kissed the juncture between neck and skin, growling, thrusting his aching erection against Alfred's thigh, his hips rolling uncontrollably.

How he wanted to enter and push inside a warm, tight sheath! Ivan hastily threw his clothes aside and stripped Alfred of his boxers, finding the young man's entrance and slid a finger in slick with the precum from his weeping erection. He shuddered when he felt that warm, inviting pressure—so tight, so soft, so warm and inviting and so like Alfred—and eagerly inserted another, forcing himself to slow down when he saw what looked to be a spasm of pain appearing on Alfred's face. Taking a deep breath, Ivan scissored his fingers, searching carefully.

Alfred let out a moan, his entire body starting. Ivan grinned, his eyes narrowing into slits as he slowly stretched Alfred out.

He would have his darling. He would go inside of Alfred and no one would be able to take him away from Vanya, not Kiku, not anyone. Moaning, he spit into his hand and rubbed his twitching cock, carefully moistening it up before pulling Alfred back against him. The boy's yellow head bumped against his chest and Ivan hugged it close to him, tears falling on Alfred's hair.

_My sweet sunflower. My everything. _

Gasping, he made to pull Alfred onto his cock, but just then a knock sounded at the door.

"Alfred, Ivan?" Mrs. Jones asked. "It's dinner time, you two—we got pizza."

Ivan froze, Alfred still a motionless doll in his arms. When no answer was forthwithcoming, Alfred's mother tried again. "Are you boys—"

"He's sleeping," Ivan said in a small voice, throwing Alfred's naked body under a pile of blankets before grabbing his clothes. "Kiku actually brought him home early today, because he threw up. He fell asleep while we were watching video, and I carried him to bed because he will get bad back if he sleeps on couch."

The doorknob turned and Ivan had _just_ pulled his pants back on, his hands shaking, erection still throbbing. Cursing, he dived into a nearby chair, grabbing a random book as Mrs. Jones entered, looking extremely confused as she took Ivan in. The Russian stared into his upside down book, not daring to shift it—he hadn't zipped himself back up yet and his member was still poking straight up, as if proud.

The room smelled like sweat and sex. Much to his horror, Mrs. Jones started to approach her son, who still lay drugged out against the bed. "Ivan, honey, why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

Ivan laughed, a high, unnatural sound. "Oh, is so hot in here. Could not stand it anymore."

"Hon, it's sixty-four degrees in here."

"That is quite warm to me! Gets so cold back in Russia," Ivan said between his teeth, mentally thankful when Mrs. Jones stopped her ascent, unable to see what he was hiding. She was looking at her son, a smile on her face, but blue-gray eyes slightly troubled.

"Well, he's definitely flushed…and if the smell of pizza's not stirring him, I guess he must be really sick. Well, we'll save some for him later. Come on, dear. Let's go eat."

"In a minute," Ivan said sweetly. "My book it is…very good."

Mrs. Jones gave him a long, strange look before she turned around and left the room, shutting the door behind her. Ivan fell to the floor, ready to be sick himself.

The Russian crawled to Alfred's side, his wide, violet eyes swimming with tears. He took Alfred's limp hand in his own, squeezing it against his chest. His heart was aching so badly Ivan longed to cry, to be small again and to bury his face in Katyusha's skirts while there was still some belief that the world couldn't get any crueler.

What he had done was sickening. What he had _almost_ done was monstrous. Ivan buried his face in his hands and shook.

_Oh, no. No. Stay away. Stay away, bad things. No. _

"I am sorry, **Солнышко**," Ivan said softly, his voice breaking. "You are just so beautiful and I adore you so….you can forgive me, d-da?"

Of course, he expected no answer and if he had gotten one, somewhere inside the dark crevices of Ivan's mind, he knew he would have broke with horror.

This was not how he wanted Alfred. He wanted Alfred awake, to be clinging to him and moaning while Ivan thoroughly sucked on his mouth, intertwined in each other's limbs—a warm cage of lust and love and _want_. He wanted Alfred's throaty voice to be pleading for him, wanted the boy to writhe with pleasure when he felt Ivan's passion inside his body.

He tugged Alfred's glasses off his face and put them on his bedside table, somberly dressing himself back up again. His erection was still fairly prominent—he was going to have to take care of that before he left. Sighing, he swept Alfred into his arms bridal style and carried him to the bathroom to wash the sweat and pre-cum off of him.

~*oOo*~

After giving Alfred a quick soak, he dried him off with a towel, dressed him back up in his clothes (he would have liked to put pajamas on him, but that would likely freak his poor sunshine out) and tucked him into bed. Ivan glanced at his watch. He wasn't certain when Alfred would wake up, but he definitely didn't want to stick around for it.

He scribbled a note to Alfred and left it at his bedside, next to his glasses.

_Dear Alfred, _

_You seem very tired! You fell asleep during show, so I carried you to bed. You sleep like a stone, **Зайка**__. ' ' I hope you will sleep well and feel better very soon. _

_Love, Ivan (And Vodka). =^. .^=_

He'd found the twins' medicine cabinet, and bandaged the dark bruise now very prominent on Alfred's neck. He added:

_P.S, I went to bathroom, and when I came back Vodka was biting your neck. Naughty kitty! He will be punished. Hopefully you shouldn't have a mark, but I bandaged it up just the same. –Ivan._

Yes, that should do it. Ivan stood up, carefully tucking the blankets back over Alfred before reluctantly leaving the room. His feet dragged, but if he stayed for another five minutes it would become ten, become half-hour, then an hour, and then Alfred would wake up, and Ivan would have to look at him in the face, even if Alfred were completely ignorant of his crime.

He felt so _filthy_. Perhaps he would find something to kill again soon, and then he could be clean. He couldn't touch Alfred unless he were clean.

After getting rid of his erection in the bathroom, he pulled on his clothes again and headed out, turning back to get a last look at Alfred, who was still lying on his bed, wrapped up warm and tight.

"Goodnight, **Лапушка," ****he said quietly. _May nothing haunt your dreams tonight._ **

He closed the door behind him and trudged downstairs, not wanting to stay another second. He headed to the living room where Franklin and Vodka were still curled up, poked his dark and furry feline awake, drowsy purple eyes staring at Ivan resentfully.

"Come on, Vodka. L-let's go home." He picked up the unhappy, squirming cat into his carrier while Franklin looked on dolefully from the couch, and headed towards the door. Matthew, who was just slowly inching down the hall, gave Ivan a surprised look.

"Alfred's too tired to eat dinner? Is this the end of all things?"

Ivan grabbed his coat and hat, not looking at Matthew.

"D-da." Curse his stuttering! Ivan was normally beautiful with lies, immaculate. Now he just felt royally messed up, sick. "Save him a slice so that he can eat it for breakfast tomorrow, da?"

Matthew rolled his good, unbruised eye. "If we don't leave Al at least a box for breakfast tomorrow, he's gonna be pissed. Hey, are you leaving? Aren't you hungry?"

"I think I caught sickness," Ivan confessed, opening the door. "Feel terrible. I must go. Goodbye, Matthew."

And before Alfred's twin could say another word, Ivan left, Vodka meowing sadly in his cage beside him.

~*oOo*~

His hands drove themselves into the sheets, twisting, curling. Alfred let out a moan, shifting his feverish head back and forth, cool rag that Ivan had put on his forehead slipping off.

_Fear didn't leave Alfred cold. It left him burning, burning, burning away as it ate away at him, consumed his insides to ashes even as he ran, wind whistling in his ears. _

_His skin felt like it was on fire, even as the rain continued to fall on it overhead, effectively drenching the terrified young man as he stumbled, just barely catching himself before he resumed his mad dash, slipping and sliding on the wet leaves. _

Get away, get away, get away _was the rhythm his feet were pounding against the earth. He briefly wished that his skin would stop burning, because if he got any hotter in these dank woods, he would almost certainly catch fire, and he would shine like a beacon to his pursuer. He wished his feet didn't pound out a rhythm at all, but were silent as his wings flapped in the gale and took him away from this evil place. _

_But he didn't have wings. And he_ was _on fire. As well as running for his life. _

_Alfred could still hear the distant_ crash-crash-crashing _sounds behind him as twigs snapped and branches were shoved aside. Worst of all, he could still hear the voice:_

_"ALFRED! Alfred, stop! Come back to me! I will not hurt you-"_

_And a pair of skeletal arms poked out from the ground and seized Alfred by the foot, sending him flying to the ground. Yelping in horror, he wrestled with the bony arms, which were wrapping around him in a mockery of an embrace, still more popping out of the Earth to touch him, and they were touching him everywhere, ripping the clothes off of him, every last one of them fighting for a bit of skin as he pursuer ran closer and closer to his struggling, terrified form, while he screamed and writhed in **terror**—_

"Alfred!"

_He was yelling his name and Alfred was so scared, he starting sobbing, throwing his eyes to heaven and begging for a rescue that would never come—_

"Alfred!"

_Into the ground, or into HIS arms, which was the worst? He tore at the hands that shook him, shook him repeatedly—_

**"ALFRED!"**

Someone was calling out to him and Alfred shouted in alarm, his eyes flying open as he soared out of his own nightmare, sweat dripping down his face. He shot up like a rocket, stammering, blathering like an idiot, trembling and staggering out of bed, his legs quivering like noodles as he seized the nearby wall for support.

Not a black forest—his own bedroom, though his vision was blurred, because he was missing his glasses, because he was crying so hard. A pair of hands tentatively touched his shoulders, and Alfred shrieked and twisted around, exclaiming **"NO!"**

Still bandaged, Matthew lurched back, his mouth a small o.

"Ack! Alfred, it's—it's just me, eh? Stop freaking out—you're okay!"

His brother stared at him wildly for a moment or so before he slowly slid to the ground, reeling. Hot tears spilled down his face and Alfred started bawling, dignity quite forgotten. His shoulders shook with sobs, his arms folded tightly around him as if he were trying to hug himself, or trying to keep himself from spilling out. Matthew very awkwardly bent and took him in a one-armed hug, while Alfred screwed his face up and cried for a few minutes.

"Alfred, Al, easy bro, you're alright," Matthew murmured. "You're safe. Just a bad fever dream. I won't put on Dexter anymore, okay?"

His twin let out a hysteric giggle, and Matthew shot him a worried glance. Soon, Alfred's sobs turned to sniffles, and Matthew cautiously got to his feet, wincing, extending a hand to Alfred. Now embarrassed, Alfred stood up on his own, rubbing his eyes.

"Was it…was it _all _a dream?" he asked uncertainly, glancing over at his bed. How long had he been asleep? "Did I fail that test? Is Mr. Yao still…"

His brother put a hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, Mr. Y is still missing," he said gently, and Alfred's heart sank. "Ivan came by today…we both fell asleep and you must have been feeling pretty bad, Alfred. He said you were burning up, so he carried you to bed."

"_That's_ not creepy," Alfred muttered, still scrubbing at his face.

"It was thoughtful."

"What about the part where he s-slid the needle into me?"

Matthew shook his head. "Oh, Al. You just watched Dexter, is all—that's how he normally incapacitates his victims. Ivan just carried you to bed, then he said he felt sick himself and left. Thanks a lot, Mr. Contagious. If you get me sick before Christmas, I'm gonna be pissed."

"It's the gift that keeps on giving," Alfred said dryly, sniffing. Matthew smiled at him, looking a little relieved.

"You should ask him to bring Vodka over again sometime….Franklin's pretty miserable now, all moping around over the place. Do you think you can stomach anything? I can get you some soup if you like."

"No thanks," Alfred muttered, heading to the bathroom. He wanted a shower desperately, but he couldn't help but feel as if he'd had one very recently….as he lifted up his shirt, the cloth brushed against a bandage. Startled, Alfred's hands flew to the spot, and the teen looked in the mirror to see a large cotton bandage and some gauze wrapped there.

"Mattie?" he hissed, his eyes about popping out of his head. "The _hell_ happened to my neck?"

~*oOo*~

After dropping Vodka off at the apartment, he'd headed for the nearest church he could find—Russian Orthodox would have been nice, but he didn't care about the denomination. When he found St. Mary's, he'd immediately turned into the deserted parking lot before rushing inside, his legs unusually heavy.

He felt ashamed for wishing that Honda had done something to hurt his beloved, but a kill would have settled him. Extinguishing a life and watching it writhing, dying away into nothingness would have purged the terrible things raging inside of Ivan. It would have made him feel better, remind him of his power and that he was doing something _good_.

But he couldn't kill Kiku, as enjoyable as the thought of sending his blood spattering against the wall was. He supposed there was always Ismael, whom he and his beloved disliked heartily, but Ismael had the rotten luck of being Matthew's best friend. If Matthew lost him, he would be in pain. And Alfred loved his brother very much. His pain would be his own.

And then, all the bad things watching, waiting for their time would come out and Ivan wouldn't be able to stop them, to continue protecting Alfred. The only hope of getting clean now was to resort to his childhood method of prayer.

Chest heaving, he slowly entered the church, dipping his finger into the nearby vat of holy water. He made the sign of the cross, genuflected. Slowly inched into an empty pew and knelt, bending his head. Ivan pulled out the set of rosary beads in his pocket, quietly beginning to pray a Hail Mary in Russian.

When he was very small and still believed in such things like God, he would very often go to church and pray. For forgiveness, for surely Ivan and his sisters had done something terrible to deserve what happened to them. For happiness. Now it was only the familiar rhythm of saying the prayers that made him feel better, his breathing ease and his heart slightly ease its pounding in his throat like a jackhammer.

He wanted Alfred, wanted to ravish him senseless.

But he was filthy, always filthy. Except when killing for Alfred. It had happened three times and each time had been beautiful, satisfying, so much _better_ than his other, pettier murders for revenge, personal enjoyment, and waste management. Even killing that little wretch who'd hurt Matthew had been wonderful—a burst of joy and a sense of well-being, his love even more cemented in his bones.

The angel in his head had given him hope when he had been locked up in that accursed hellhole in Siberia, promised him that a light would come into his life if he just _held on for a little while longer_ rather than hang himself.

And it had been right. He'd met Alfred, the unbelievably kind and self-sacrificing Alfred. He was Hope, Hope amongst the Terrible Things. He was adorable, he was lovely, and he had to be Ivan's own savior. Being with him not only made Ivan feel good for the first time in years, it made him feel….extraordinary.

Wanted. Cared for. He would do anything for him. Protect him. And one day, Ivan would have his angel and his angel would understand, understand and not be defiled, least of all by Ivan.

Ivan's fingers moved to the next wooden bead and he started the "Our Father" prayer, clutching the bead to his breast.

It was going to be alright. Ivan would follow him to whatever college he went to and everything would be fine. The Russian inhaled the familiar and comforting scent of incense and old church…it was like home had followed him.

Just so long as he never had to smell that horrid smell of sanatorium again.

Refocusing his attention, he began to mutter the prayer of his patron saint, St. Ivan. It was many hours before Ivan left, not feeling absolutely clean but at least not quite so dirty.

Still, he wanted to do something for his sunshine. Ivan decided to head to the mall before he went home. It was getting late.

~*oOo*~

Ivan was now an almost constant houseguest at the Jones' house, and Vodka a close second. The dark, furry cat had taken to batting the cage lid with his paws when Ivan brought him, anxious to play with Franklin. The brown and white feline seemed equally pleased to run around with Vodka, more so to cuddle with him.

The Russian obviously felt the same way, because he now followed Alfred around everywhere inside his own home. If he were putting away dishes, Ivan's hands would suddenly appear and begin to help, if Ivan were offered the couch when he stayed the night, Alfred would wake up and find him on the floor of his bedroom in a sleeping bag, if Alfred were busy icing Christmas cookies, he would have one of his hands accosted and Ivan would suck on the sugary fingers while Alfred squirmed, very clearly uncomfortable.

"Hoooookay, man, that's enough of that," he said one evening when Ivan had leaned forward to lick hot chocolate off his nose. Alfred staggered away with a hot blush on his face.

It was Christmas Eve, and both Katyusha and Ivan had been invited to spend it with the Jones. (Natalya, it transpired, was at a friend's house for a holiday party.) While Ivan's sister and Mrs. Jones enjoyed chattering on about baking, Matthew had stared at Katyusha throughout the evening, his ears red.

"Mattie," Alfred hissed as he sat down beside his brother at the dinner table. "I…I think Iv's hitting on me."

"Mmm." Matthew was biting on his forefinger. Alfred rolled his eyes and kicked him in the leg. Annoyed and jerked out of his reverie, he nodded.

"Yeah…I think that's….kind of possible," he admitted reluctantly as Ivan found them both, his arms wrapping around Alfred's shoulders.

But so long as Ivan didn't openly admit it, what could they do?

Christmas dawned. Ivan got Matthew a new hockey stick, and for Alfred, a Tetris video game and a powder blue scarf.

"He asked me to teach him how to knit," Katyusha admitted happily as Ivan squirmed in his chair, red-faced.

"I thought the hue would look nice with your eyes."

For Ivan, Alfred got him a book of sunflowers and a box of peppermint bark, which Ivan claimed to love. The adoring beam Ivan cast his way made Alfred so flustered he didn't know where to look.

His admirer didn't forget him either: A very long love poem, as well as a magnificent sketch of him as an angel and a new wristwatch. Alfred stuffed these things in a drawer and prayed no one noticed.

~*oOo*~

The new school year came, and everyone reluctantly returned to school, cheer battered with exhaustion and post-holiday depression. The gift giver did not cease to leave strange presents at Alfred's doorstep or locker, and even when Alfred left the culprit a few notes asking whether or not they would like to meet with him, the notes were ignored. Two or three times Alfred stayed after school with a buddy of his, hoping he could catch them red-handed. But the person would just switch to the alternative—if Alfred waited at his house, gifts appeared at school, and when he waited at school, there would be a present sitting on the step by the time he came home.

It was flattering, confusing, and a little scary now. The gifts were growing increasingly more elaborate, the notes more loving, more sensual, and Alfred found himself thinking of them at night, blushing and squirming and looking out the window to see if any dark shadows were creeping to his house in the dead of night.

Sometimes, he felt conscious of a pair of eyes watching him at night, felt it even in his dreams. A few times it had made him feel safe, at ease, but most of the time it just sent a shiver down his spine as he threw his head beneath the comforter in his too-dark room and waited for morning to come, like a frightened eight year old.

No word of Mr. Yao. A new teacher was hired to replace him, and Alfred tried not to think about why that made his stomach roll.

Soon, the cold, blue and gray dregs of January were replaced by February, which meant an avalanche of chocolate and hearts on the very first day. Shops everywhere announced record sales on cheap valentines with cheesy slogans, and commercials reminded you to pick up chocolates for your sweetheart. Their school's annual Valentine's Day dance was coming up, and red and pink posters advertising tickets now hung in the halls.

Alfred was especially excited for this year's dance, because he wanted to invite a girl named Elizabeta. Alfred really liked Elizabeta. Instead of being one of those prissy little girls who stayed inside to gossip all day and turned white at getting mud on her shoes, the brunette was captain of the school's girl rugby team. Everyone knew that she could all too easily beat her ex-boyfriend Gilbert in an arm-wrestling competition, and her boyfriend before Gilbert had taught her how to cook like a pro.

He hoped beyond hope that she was somehow his "stalker," though it seemed most unlikely. Besides, he was only ever imagining being stared at during the night—who would be that depraved to come in and watch someone sleep?

Ivan remained as close to him as he ever had, perhaps closer than he would like. In March, the baseball team would be holding tryouts after training season, but he wasn't at all certain if he would be joining this year. He had the sickening impression that Ivan would insist on joining him again.

A week into February, he finally asked Elizabeta to the dance, and after some chuckling, had agreed to come along with him. Whooping, he'd rushed to tell his friends at lunch the good news, and they all had varying reactions:

"Wonderful!" Francis exclaimed, raising his sparkling grape juice in a toast to Alfred. "Though considering Lizzie dear hit me in the head once or twice when I tried to compliment her lovely figure, I wish you all the best."

Mattie just grinned at him and held a thumbs-up. Ismael rolled his eyes. "Dude. Your stalker is going to kick her ass."

Kiku said nothing. He only stared at his interlocked fingers.

Ivan smiled.

"This is awesome." Alfred crowed as they left the lunchroom later on. He took a better look at his friend and blinked in confusion. "Iv, what's the matter with you? You seem awfully quiet today. Well, quieter than usual, anyhow."

"Is nothing," Ivan assured him, his expression dark. "I have bad headache today, is all. Will you be coming over to my house today after school so that we can study for Economics test?"

Alfred winced. Or at least winced to the best of his ability, smiling apologetically. Some Ivan-free time would really be appreciated right now, considering how he was now never certain whether or not Ivan were breathing down his neck when he thought he was alone.

"Ooh, sorry man. I promised Kiku I'd study with him tonight. Wish you could come too…don't know why his parents are so weird." Alfred rolled his eyes. "They're really nice though, like Kiku. I wouldn't judge them."

Ivan smiled again.

~*oOo*~

"So, if you remember the principle of supply and demand, we look at the downward slope and determine…."

Alfred nodded, forcing himself to pay attention. He guessed it were sort of stupid, but he now took every test as if someone's life depended on it.

_Because it very well might. _

His phone rang, interrupting Kiku's speech. Curious, Alfred checked the ID and rolled his eyes. Huh, boy. He reluctantly answered.

"Y'ello? This is Alfred F. Jones, how might I make your life more awesome today?"

"_Alfred_?" The familiar voice sounded relieved, though his name was being hissed, as if Ivan were in severe pain. Troubled, Alfred leaned back.

"Iv, what happened? You okay?"

A shaky laugh. _"I guess. Katyusha…not home yet, staying late tonight. But my foot…I…fell down steps….and I can't move."_

Alfred gasped, staggering to his feet. "Oh my God! Are you okay?!"

"I think so. Well, besides the fact that I can't move. And I…might need some help." A pause. "I am sorry…."

"Dude, don't be! We're on our way, just hang in there!" Alfred abruptly switched off his phone and turned to Kiku, who was glowering at their notes. "Ivan fell down the stairs and he can't get back up! He's out there in the freezing cold! We gotta help him!"

"Why doesn't he just call an ambulance?" Kiku asked crossly. Alfred's eyes just about popped out of his head.

"Dude, he's not gonna call an ambulance when somewhere out there there's a kitten stuck in a tree or an old man havin' a heart attack or an old man stuck in a tree!" Alfred exclaimed, grabbing his coat and boots and sitting on the step to start pulling them on. Alfred's phone started ringing again, and he pressed it to his ear. "Hey, Iv. We'll go and help you right away, Iv…what? Whaddaya mean, you just need me? Kiku doesn't mind comin'!"

Kiku stood up, crossed the room, and snatched the phone out of Alfred's hands. "Ivan, kindly stop being a baby and get your own life," he hissed. Alfred gasped.

"Kiku, the hell is-"

The Japanese boy threw the phone to the ground.

"Alfred-chan, I love you," he exclaimed, seizing hold of his best friend's face and kissing him. Hard.

And Ivan heard everything.

~*oOo*~

Elizabeta hummed as she swung open the gate to her house, carrying her sack of groceries.

What to wear next week? She supposed she might go out with the few girlfriends she had and find a nice dress, though she supposed there was nothing wrong with the light green one Roderich had liked so much...

She approached her house, and was about to let herself in when she saw It. A heart. A heart had been hammered into the door, bleeding red and dripping all over the place.

The groceries fell, and so did she. Dazed, she looked up at the red letters that had been written across her doorway, each one shedding red tears:

_He's mine._

* * *

**Okay. Yeah, that's a pig's heart-not a human's! I doubt that will make you sleep any easier, however. Man, this is easily the most messed-up thing I have ever written...don't really know if I want to finish this. :( Maybe I can just insert an ending that involves noodle salad and zombies. Dunno. **

**Promised Hyperkaoru that today Brother Knows Best would be updated. I am working on it, my dear, and I hope to have it finished soon. BKB is easily my favorite story, though I'm trying to improve what I fear is too long and meandering writing.**

**This story officially scares the beans out of me. When I don't have exams to study for, I'm gonna write something cute and fluffy!**


	5. Pipes n Sunflowers

**Pipes n Sunflowers**

**~*oOo*~**

**Name what this chapter title is parodying and you win at life. **

**I hope everyone is doing well and still enjoying this strange, sordid little story. The fountains in this story are real. What I mean by "joke fountains" is that if you step on a certain panel of stone near them, they squirt you!  
**

**By the way, Ivan's poem is my own creation. I'm a suckish poet, so forgive me!  
**

**Note: Feline mating is actually pretty painful for cats, because males have ridges on their….yeah. But this is a work of fiction. **

**Speaking of cats, I would like to give Miss Fynniona Ukraine kitty! ^_^ Her name's Kalyna (Tiny Rose). Be sure to look after her! All my love to you and HyperK for the beautiful fanart. *Huggle glomp omega attacks*  
**

**Long note is long. Let's move on, shall we? See you at the bottom!  
**

**~*oOo*~**

* * *

_Ivan wasn't sure what made him do it. It wasn't as if he weren't aware of the consequences should the unthinkable happen and he be caught red-handed—oh, far, far from it. If he escaped with but a lashing from the man who called himself Papa and demanded to be called Papa but would never,_ _**ever **be Papa, Ivan knew he would probably stumble around in a daze, drunk on his good fortune_.

_But considering his miserable luck, it seemed most unlikely that he'd get away with it. There was always the old well out back, and the thought of it normally quelled any hunger pang the little boy felt, replacing emptiness with a sickening wave of nausea. He normally wasn't brave enough to brave his stepfather's wrath for anything, but the emptiness in his stomach was terrible that day, clattering around like a groping hand in an empty wooden bowl. _

_Dinner would come, and with it Ivan's one meal for the day, but it couldn't possibly come soon enough. All the pictures Ivan doodled on the floor of his room were full of food: bowls of fruit, bowls of soups, baskets of bread, enough sweets to satisfy even the most demanding sweet tooth. The little boy of five finally stopped drawing and hugged his knees to his chest, large, sad eyes full of tears. _

_He wanted to eat. And he wanted to eat _right now_. _

_Ivan left the room and began to pad down the stairs, knowing that if he waited any longer courage would fail him and a positively wretched afternoon awaited him. Waiting for dinner wasn't an option. He had gnawed all his nails to pink, swollen stubs. _

_Besides, there wasn't even a guarantee that he would be able to eat tonight. If HE had another one of his fits and overturned the table, there wasn't the slightest thing he or his sisters could do about it. HE would know if Katyusha tried to fix food, would drag her out by the hair and—_

_Hunger made him brave. Made him stupid. Made him forgetful. Katyusha was still weeping, giggling in the barn, lost in her own world of happy dreams and delusions after what that man did to her yesterday. A scorching hatred pumped through Ivan's veins, racing through them like poison. Every Sunday he prayed for the same thing; for the wolves to come and rip his stepfather to bloody pieces before gobbling him up. They never did. _

_Ivan reached the bottom of the stairs and cautiously peeked his head into the living room. All was still; the television not on, not a soul to be seen. Even little Natalya, who normally spent so much time dogging her older brother's shadow, was nowhere to be found as Ivan quietly crept into the kitchen. Her punishments tended to be a little less macabre, but considering she had to stand on a chair for nine hours because she did not immediately come when called for supper last night, she was likely still in bed. Or hiding under it. Ivan would do the same if in her position. _

_When he crept to the kitchen, he hastily grabbed his chair from the table and scooted it across the floor, wincing as he listened to the legs scrape against the wooden floor, tiny screeching fingers trying to give him away. Hoisting the chair up with a grunt, Ivan staggered with it to the cupboard, the heavy chair slipping from his fingers with a loud THUD. _

_Ivan froze. But not a sound. Perhaps his stepfather was away. But Ivan would believe his good fortune only when he had run outside to his Secret, Safe place in the woods where no one, including his stepfather, could touch him. Deep in the woods he knew so well, with so many twisted and gnarled old trees protecting him like a surge of kindly old grandfathers, he could enjoy his prize and spend the day in rapture, a triumphant thief. _

_The little boy scurried up the chair, stood on tiptoe, and with the tips of his fingers swung open the cupboard, willing it not to creak. And then, there in sight was his treasure; a bag of apples. _

_He practically salivated at the beautiful sight, and he managed to pry one free of its fellows, rolling it towards him and catching it as it fell out. A beautiful, delicious treat. And no one was around. There was yet time for more. _

_Ivan knew he ought to close the cupboard now and just rush outside, but success whet his appetite; made his eyes gleam with greed. Besides, if he got a few of them, he could share them with Natalya and Katyusha later. Imagining the overjoyed and impressed looks on their faces, Ivan hastily rolled out one, two, until he lost his head completely and used his shirt as a basket for seven apples. All beautiful, even if some were bearing spots; Ivan was already imagining the clean, crisp bite of the fruit, tangy juice dribbling down his chin. _

_Slowly, carefully, he closed the cupboard shut and awkwardly stepped down with his treasure horde. Smiling, Ivan made to push his chair back to its rightful place only to freeze in his tracks, mind going blank with horror._

Oh, no. Please, no.

_Stepfather stood in the doorway, a tall, hulking figure that starred in all of Ivan's nightmares ever since the terrible figure had walked through the door with his awful scary eyes and his faux big smile. He was lazily running a finger through his mustache, affectionately staring down at Ivan as if he were a small puppy at the pet shop he wanted to take home, or a killed goose at the butcher's he wanted to take home and stuff. _

_The man exhaled through his prominent nostrils; they flared. The air tickled the mustache beneath it, making it ruffle even as he bent down, hands on his knees whilst giving the absolutely terrified boy a broad grin, dark eyes twinkling like Ded Moroz's. Ivan's ears burnt with embarrassment as he felt a warmth growing in his pants; he'd wet himself from the fright clawing at him, rooting him to the ground even as he wanted to race out, _run, _run_, **run**, _**RUN**, and never look back. _

_"Privyet, little piggy. What is it you have there? Some apples to stuff your mouth with, I suppose?" _

_They all clattered out of Ivan's hold, onto the floor. _

~*oOo*~

The phone was ringing shrilly on the floor, but neither Kiku nor Alfred answered it, even when it fell silent for a moment and started to ring again, insistent. The shorter boy stared at it, large brown eyes mortified. He dared a glance at his best friend, and wished he had not. Kiku swallowed.

"Alfred…"

"Dude, the _hell_ is wrong with you?!" Alfred stammered, scrubbing at his mouth with both his hands, his face glowing red.

"Alfred…I am sorry…I do not know what came over me…." The Asian anxiously crept forward a step or two, hands held out beseechingly. He had the air of a man surrounded by a firing squad.

"Get the fuck away from me, Kiku," the blond snapped, staggering back and knocking over a lamp in his haste. Disturbed from his pillow, Kiku's cat Tama scattered away with a startled hiss.

"Alfred. Just listen to me. I am…I can explain…I do not know wh—"

"No. No. I _know_ what you're doing now." Alfred shot back, _hurt_ and _rage_ swelling up inside him like hot air in a balloon. "You_ lied_ to me. You _told_ me you had no idea who the hell was stashing those love notes inside my locker, and it was _you _all the time!" He accusingly jabbed his shaking index finger in Kiku's direction. "Did you think you were doing me a _favor_, making me feel special and then just royally creeping me out? Was telling me you were _worried_ about the whole thing just a nice way to cover your tracks?" Overwhelmed, Alfred just shook his head, tried to speak, and growled, hands tangling in his hair and ripping through the strands. "I can't even _look_ at you right now!"

Kiku just stared at him, wide-eyed, expression blank. "What?" he croaked, advancing another step in his best friend's direction before Alfred staggered back with a snarl. "Alfred, that was not my doing, I just…I don't know what came over me just now—"

"The hell you don't!" The blond exploded, burying his red face in his hand, wanting to smash something. Humiliation and rage competed for domination through him; it was impossible to say which one won. "I go to bed every night, and it takes me hours to freaking fall asleep now because I'm dreaming of some sick bastard throwing me in a locked trunk!" Alfred seized his backpack, throwing a strap over his shoulder. "And it was _you._ You…you didn't even tell me you were gay!"

"Would it have made any difference?" the Asian asked despairingly. Alfred colored and swore under his breath, shaking.

"Well, no…but you're my best fucking friend, Kiku, or at least you're supposed to be!" Alfred shouted, voice thick with tears. "I was getting _scared_, I didn't know what to do, and—and I've never kept _anything_ from you! Not once! Ever! And you totally lied to me about stuffing stuff into my locker, as well as you…." He trailed off, shaking hands touching his lips before he spat out bitterly: "That's a serious breach of the bro code, man. I was wondering how this weirdo knew where I live _and_ my locker combination. _Now_ it all makes sense."

Kiku frantically shook his head back and forth in a blur of dark hair. If Alfred didn't feel like throttling someone right now, he would have laughed; it was so rare to see Kiku remotely worked up about anything. "Alfred, I might have…been inappropriate just now, and I'm very sorry, but I haven't been one putting anything in your locker! And I never lied to you, because I never said anything at all!"

Disgusted, Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose, threw his head back, and counted back from ten before he threw something. "No man. I'm…" He sighed, a deep, shuddering sigh. "Kiku, I'm really flattered, but to be honest, I'm a little freaked out right now. _And_ disappointed. Dude, I'm sorry, but you know I like girls. I like Elizabeta. Have since second grade. You know that."

Alfred threw him a cautious, unnerved look. Kiku didn't speak. He didn't have to. His eyes were full of tears.

"Alfred-_chan_, please believe me-"

The phone started ringing once again, and Alfred was glad of the excuse to scoop it up, to turn his back on Kiku. "Hey, Iv, sorry about that, I-"

Face scrunching up, he held the phone away from his ear, brow wrinkling with confusion. "Dude, I can't understand you right now! Slow down, it sounds like you're speakin' some whole other—oh. Iv, I'm sorry, just wait for me, okay? I'll be there soon. Promise. Just calm down, buddy, I still can't—be there in a sec."

Kiku's eyes narrowed as Alfred lowered the cell and tucked it away in his pocket. "He wasn't speaking English? I wonder why _that_ might be." His quiet voice was unusually ragged, ripped with cynicism and something Alfred couldn't name, but didn't like.

"Piss off, man. You've slipped into Japanese before, and no one yelled at you for it," Alfred muttered, wandering away towards the door for his shoes. "The guy could have broken his fucking ankle for all we know-hell, I'd cuss too. I have to go."

"The moment you finally have an afternoon free to spend time with me, HE gets hurt. That seems to me a remarkable _coincidence_, Alfred."

Toeing his boot back on, Alfred cast the young man behind him a dirty look. "Kiku, we've been over this. He's a perfectly nice guy, got a solid alibi, no effing reason to be a freaking kidnapper." He snorted. "_You_, on the other hand, I'm probably gonna wanna give a wide berth now, right?"

Pain flashed through Kiku's eyes; Alfred hastily opened the door, pulling on his coat with some difficulty because he kept trying to put it on upside down. He needed to leave now. If Kiku started crying and Alfred saw it then he would instinctively want to—no. Kiku had shattered his trust. Broke it so badly, Alfred didn't think he could look at his companion of a decade the same way ever again. He wasn't going to stay and comfort him.

"Alfred-kun, he's creepy! The way he follows you now—everyone notices it! It is like he is magnet, following you _everywhere_ you go! Remember when we all went to scary movie, Ivan insisted you take the aisle seat so that he was only one for you to grab when you were frightened? Ivan is _obsessed _with you, Alfred F. Jones, and as for how I feel about you—"

Alfred threw his hands over his ears. "I'm going."

"Alfred-kun, please don't leave!"

But the young man was already dashing down the walk, ignoring the faint sounds of Kiku frantically calling out after him, perhaps trying to catch up with him. He had to know that it wasn't any good; Alfred had always, always been able to outrun Kiku.

Breath a puffy vapor, Alfred ran down the street, the sound of his feet pounding on the ground a soothing distraction from the pained sobs he heard ripping in the air.

~*oOo*~

It had started to snow again, and while the days were slowly growing longer, early evening meant that darkness had already fallen. The sky was mottled with dark blue-gray clouds, sun eclipsed. The streetlamps had already been lit in the parking lot, shining a dull gold on his red vehicle looming in the distance.

Ivan's ankle burned underneath him, throbbing and quivering in protest, but he walked on to his car as if he felt nothing at all, face betraying nothing, though the screen of the phone clenched in his hand had been shattered, and one of his hands ached, covered with a crusty patch of dried blood.

His hands were cold. He would make them warm again. By thrusting them through Kiku Honda's veins and ripping so that the hot blood spilled from every pore, soaking him with the life that would never, ever flow again.

_"Alfred-chan, I love you."_

_"Mmmph!" He'd heard Alfred exclaim. Then nothing. After Ivan called him back three times, he finally answered back, sounding exhausted, promised to fetch Ivan. _

But Ivan no longer wanted rescue. He wanted Kiku impaled on a weathervine.

Stars exploding before his eyes as his ankle squealed in protest, he pulled out his keys from his pocket, tracing over the sharp edges with a gloved fingertip before he reached his car and all but ripped the door off before climbing inside, thankful that it was his left ankle he chose to sprain rather than the one for the gas pedal and brake. The car roared to life, headlights illuminating the snowflakes dancing around the grill of the car as he hastily reversed and sped out, the speedometer meter 15 miles above speed limit. Then 20. 25.

This was all his fault and he blamed himself bitterly for it. If only he'd found some excuse to drown the little mouse a long time ago, then this never would have happened. Ivan could only pray that he'd somehow _misconstrued_ what he heard and that Kiku hadn't touched Alfred. If he had...

How glad was he that his pipe was still conveniently inside the trunk of his car, covered with a tarp! Not that he wouldn't have gladly crawled up all those stairs to fetch it, lame or otherwise, though he supposed the idea of dragging a violently struggling Kiku by the hair into the road had its merits. Ivan wondered how fast the boy could run when a car's headlights were beaming up like the devil's eyes behind him, the human engine intent on running him down, reversing, and running him over and over again until he was but a splattered mess on the windshield.

His car raced past several lit streetlamps, temporarily shining a soft glow on his pale mask of a face, jaw set, eyes wild, brow glistening with sweat.

This couldn't wait. And neither could he. The Russian raced past a stop sign, narrowly avoided hitting a stray dog (_Ivan made no attempt to slow down; the canine simply ran for its life)—_and a flash of yellow zipped past the window and Ivan almost drove his face straight through the windshield when he abruptly hit the brakes. Thankfully there was no one behind him, though there was a young man jogging down the street in Ivan's wake. Breathless, Ivan immediately slammed his hand on the horn, hastily cranking down the window and crying out:

"Alfred!"

The beloved figure swung his head around, his face pink from exertion and cold, eyes overbright. Surprise and alarm turned to relief and recognition, and he turned back as Ivan hurriedly backed the car in his direction. Alfred clamored in the passenger seat, smiling, but looking extremely confused.

"Iv! Dude, you okay? I thought you couldn't move! Man, I was even running to your place cause I thought ya were MIA!" Alfred's eyes narrowed. "Were you screwing with me?"

Ivan didn't register what Alfred was saying, lifting a hand to touch his boy's face, not noticing Alfred's eyes widening behind his glasses. This was relief. His sunflower, a soothing balm on a burn. Soft, precious skin. A shudder.

But by no means did he forget his fury.

Alfred jerked back from the touch, and Ivan lowered his hand and his eyes before turning his attention back to the wheel. Kiku could wait. Alfred could not. "You look so red. What happened?" he tried to ask in a normal voice. It sounded strange, even to him. He chuckled. "I thought I heard something ridiculous—"

"Ivan, were you lying?" Alfred asked bluntly.

In response, the Russian pulled into a driveway, and with a small hiss of pain, slowly lifted his left ankle. Alfred took one look and cringed with sympathy. "Yikes, Iv, you're _driving_ with that thing? I thought you said you couldn't mo—"

"What did Kiku say to you?"

Alfred just shook his head, staring at the bruised bulge at Ivan's ankle, puffy and swollen. It certainly looked painful. "Why in the world did you come out here like this? You could have gotten in a wreck or something!"

"Don't use that foot as is whilst driving. No trouble. Now, tell me—"

"Come on, Ivan, let's switch. I don't want you to hurt yourse—"

"_I heard him say, heard him say_—" Ivan ranted, seizing hold of Alfred's jacket before he could stop himself. "What did he do? Why are you so red? Tell me where he is. Tell me where he is right now."

His angel just gawked at him, his already cheekbones darkening in color. He let out a long sigh, shoulders slumping. Ivan's hands fell back to his lap.

"Just…never mind Kiku, dude, never mind." He sucked in his breath and turned to look out at the gray sky, his eyes grim and weary. "Let's just get you to my place, okay big guy? You shouldn't be driving like this. I can drive us back to my place—Mom can probably help patch you up."

"Did Kiku—"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"But—"

"I _said,_ I don't wanna talk about it."

Ivan said no more. Alfred got out, crossing over to the driver's side, staring at the Russian through the window expectantly. After a moment or so, Ivan reluctantly got out, gratefully taking the extended arm and leaning on it as Alfred carefully guided him to the passenger seat. Pain or no pain, he could have walked on his own power, but he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to lean his body up against Alfred's. Once he saw that his friend was buckled in, Alfred wandered over to the driver's seat and took the wheel. "Do ya have any ace bandages we can use to tie that up? I'm not sure if we still have any in the medicine cabinet."

The Russian shrugged, not knowing where to look. Alfred just looked at him, his blue eyes softening as he grabbed Ivan's shoulder and shook it affectionately. Like a shy schoolboy, Ivan smiled, enjoying the sensation of Alfred touching him. "Why don't we drop by your place first and pick up Vodka? Franklin's been the whiniest pain in the ass lately." When Ivan happily bobbed his head in agreement, his sunflower cast him one of his trademark, melt the hearts of the masses grins. "He's really been chowing down lately, too…Dad says we'll have to put him on a diet before long. Speaking of which, wanna get ice cream?"

~*oOo*~

Once Mrs. Jones was done fussing over Ivan and his bandaged ankle was propped up on a pile of pillows, Alfred plugged in the video game system and handed Ivan a controller, hoping that the two would engross themselves in a good old-fashioned racing or fighting marathon. He really didn't want to have to think or feel anymore.

He glanced at the video game disc he was about to put in and scowled; the Mario racing game had been a gift from Kiku. So racing was out. He popped the disc out and instead inserted the Tetris card that Ivan had gotten him for Christmas. Out of the corner of his eye, Alfred saw Ivan smiling broadly when he chose the Russian's game over his once best friend's.

Ivan was horrible at the game whilst playing against Alfred, but usually left Matthew a sobbing wreck whenever he played against him, which was weird because Alfred had yet to break Mattie's high score, much to his chagrin.

"C'mon, man, I know you're just lettin' me win," Alfred complained as the colored blocks started to fill up Ivan's half of the screen. "Gimme a real challenge!"

Ivan smiled and Alfred sorely regretted his request; soon the blocks were all but hurtling down the screen, and it was all he could do to keep up whilst Ivan leaned lazily against the couch, his hand masterful on the joystick.

"Cheater!" The blond exclaimed with no real ire when Ivan easily won. Something warm wandered into Alfred's lap, and the teen looked down to see a long-haired kitty blinking up sleepily at him. "Hey, Vodka."

The large, loaf-like creature affectionately nudged Alfred's forearm as he scratched it behind its large ears, but while the cat purred in appreciation, its purple eyes kept scanning the living room, tail flicking back and forth despondently, drooping. "Aww, you look disappointed. Couldn't find your buddy Captain Lazybones?"

A furry white head poked in at the archway, and Vodka gleefully leapt off of Alfred's lap, streaked across the living room, his purr comparable to the rumble of a waterfall as he pounced on Franklin, nuzzling and nipping at the ring of fur around his neck. Ivan saw that the white cat's stomach was distended, almost dragging on the floor. He'd certainly grown since Vodka had seen him last, but the dark cat didn't seem to mind. In fact, he seemed happier than when Alfred gave him that sock stuffed full of catnip.

Franklin mewed and turned the two over, tail wagging like a dog's while the great cat started lapping at his ears, which had snow on them. The white cat squirmed and wriggled, purring loudly when Vodka rolled them over again, hastily mounting the smaller cat and lovingly headbutting him as Franklin buried his face in Vodka's neck.

Ivan beamed, but Alfred coughed, looking embarrassed. "Guess they didn't have any trouble in figuring it out. I feel like I'm watchin' something indecent."

"Aren't you going to try and stop them?"

"What's the use? The minute we pull your horny cat off of him, my horny cat just meows like a big baby until we let horny cat 1# have his fun." Alfred put his controller to the side and hugged his knees. His phone rang inside his pocket, and the teen wearily reached for the device and turned it off before carelessly hurling it behind him. "Franklin's been really weird, all yowling and twitching and licking himself all the time. Lot cuddlier than usual, though."

Ivan stared at him thoughtfully. Alfred rocked back and forth, nibbling at his lower lip."Iv? Do you really think animals can really be, uh, homos?"

"Many species technically procreate that way, though depends on what you mean by word. Why do you ask?"

Alfred said nothing. Ivan sidled over to the young man staring at his feet.

"I remember my first kiss...it was with Elizabeta," he said quietly, blushing when Franklin's mewing noises started picking up. "When we were eight years old. Lizzie usually ran around with us guys instead of playing with dolls like the other girls…" He snorted. "Everyone made fun of her, but she never paid any mind. Most days she came in with her overalls, though sometimes Lizzie would come in wearing a pretty dress, a flower in her hair. Either way, I remember thinking that was the most beautiful thing in the world. Uh, Iv, are you okay, buddy?"

Ivan dropped his controller before he broke it. "Just fine, da?"

"You sure? You, uh, kinda look like you're about to blow a gasket."

"Ankle hurts. Please go on with story."

"One recess, I brought her flowers. Well, to be exact, I brought her a bouquet of dandelions. She laughed a good long while, and then I guess took pity on me, because she leaned forward and we kissed." A shaky laugh and a blush. "Nothing gross or long like the Hollywood kisses, but it was nice. Her lips were soft but firm and I just felt…all these butterflies soaring around in me." Alfred closed his eyes and leaned his head on his shoulder, and Ivan desperately wished it were his. "She tasted like peanut butter and banana sandwich. Walked around babbling like an idiot for the rest of the day….I let everyone believe that my brain was broke for awhile—better that than to have contracted _cooties_." He sighed.

"I've had a few little kisses besides Elizabeta, but they were just—" He vaguely waved his hand. "Just not the same. The kisses just felt too wrong, too soft, too wet, too icky, nothing like I felt when I kissed Lizzy. I dunno how you explain it. Maybe I remember my smooch with Lizzy to be better than it actually was, or maybe I was just excited because it was my first kiss, or maybe I'm just way too picky about people. But that memory always stood out in my brain as something real special. I've always loved Lizzy, always admired her, but heck, so does everyone else. Lord knows how many people have tried asking her out and got rejected. Gilbert and Roderich were lucky as all hell. And now, Kiku…"

"Alfredka?" Ivan asked gently, when Alfred trailed off and gave no signs of continuing. "I think there is reason you came so quickly after I called. You had fight with Kiku, da?"

"I was worried about you. You out sitting all alone in the cold with a bum ankle? The only thing missing would be a guy playin' a sad song on his violin."

"But Kiku could have given you ride to my place. Instead, you try to run there. What happened?" Ivan lightly squeezed Alfred's shoulder and stole a quick sniff, because Alfred was gazing at his and Ivan's cats making love in the middle of the living room, deadpanned.

Alfred opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head like a dog trying to rid itself of water. Ivan crawled over to Alfred's opposite side, prompting him when no answer was forthcoming. "Come now, **Солнышко.**You and I are friends, da? And you seem sad."

His best friend gave him a wan look that was hardly a passable attempt at smiling.

"Kiku…all of a sudden, hell, it's so unlike him that I wonder if he's sick," he joked humorlessly. "He…kinda kissed me. Just up and kissed me right when you called, while we were studying. Told me that he loved me." The words were bizarre in his head, but even more so coming out of his mouth, and Alfred felt his face burn hotly as he turned to look at the game screen, dazed. "And he was denying it, but I'm pretty sure he's been my little "visitor" for the past few months. It's been freaking me out so much lately I almost feel like someone's freaking _watching _me in my sleep…" He wrapped his arms around himself, smile melting off his face.

"I know it's probably all bullcrap, but I've been havin' real messed up dreams lately. Like someone tying me up and pointing a gun to my head, or something."

Ivan kept his face devoid of any emotion, even when he felt his heart silently crack.

_I would never hurt you._

Kiku, on the other hand, was about to get his face ripped off.

"Iv, who else could it be? I haven't wanted to say anything to Mom or Dad because I don't wanna freak them out. I don't want to go to the police because they'd probably just laugh in my face, and I'm not sure whether or not I wanna get this person in trouble. They've…been real nice. I like the way they write." He squeezed his eyes shut and cursed softly under his breath, pressing his splayed hands against his forehead. "Kept the letters. And that person's _gotta be_ Kiku, because the culprit _knew_ when I switched lockers for the new year—sent me that card and stuff. They know where I live, for fuck's sake. And if Kiku's gonna go so far as to kiss me and then tell me it's not a joke…."

Ivan had become a living statue next to him. Alfred glanced over Ivan's shoulder at Vodka and Franklin, where the white cat was playfully nosing at Vodka while the Russian blue curled up around him, the two purring like machine gears. "That was just…..I never saw it coming. Am I a complete idiot, Iv?"

It took a moment for Ivan to respond. "_Nyet_," he said at last. "Kiku was…inappropriate." _Kiku was going to join Mr. Yao and Arthur into a watery grave_. "Normally he is so…_polite_—" Stinging, stinging, bile burning the back of his throat! "—and withdrawn, I imagined he would have to burst at some point. He must….feel very strongly about this."

"I never thought about kissing a boy before," Alfred admitted. "Never wanted to date one. So I'm pretty sure I'm not gay." He hugged his knees to his chest and sighed forlornly; Ivan resisted the urge to tug him into a hug with some difficulty. "Ivan, what was your first kiss like?"

Ivan blinked, momentarily distracted from images of execution."My first kiss," he began slowly, "Was when I was very small. My sisters would kiss me often, but that does not count, I suppose. One of my classmates told me I had big nose and was ugly." Ivan's expression soured, but he chuckled all the same, though the warmth did not spread to his cold eyes. "I threw a snowball with bits of gravel and bark in it at her when I was walking home…she chased me, knocked me to ground, and started kicking me. I pulled on her hair. Then, she kissed me and I her."

Momentarily distracted from his depression, Alfred just gaped at Ivan for a few seconds before a reluctant giggle spilled out, much to Ivan's pleasure. "Dude, seriously? I get that we kinda do different things in Russia and America, but that's kinda messed up. Maybe not though," he added thoughtfully, rubbing his eyes. "It could be some kinda twisted courtship thing. Boy sees girl, girl kicks boy in shins, boy throws worm in girl's hair, they live happily ever after." The corners of Alfred's mouth lifted up wistfully. "It'd be kinda nice if it usually worked out like that, like in the movies."

Who needed some farce when you had a fairy tale, one of the nice, beautiful ones?

"You must be very angry at Kiku, da?"

Ivan squeezed Alfred's arm. draped an arm around Alfred's shoulder, hoping he seemed nonchalant rather than adoring. One word. That's all he needed to do what should have been done ages ago without letting IT and THEM go.

Alfred laughed, a hollow sound that made Ivan ache. "Sure as hell am," he said dispiritedly, picking up his controller again and starting the level over, no real heart in his playing. "The guy freaking lied to me for weeks on end, then all of a sudden decides to try sucking face. I'm more mad about the lying part, though. He wrote…in those letters…."

The blond watched a block column fall on screen, making no effort to sort it. "That's why I haven't wanted to turn this person in. Never knew Kiku could…that he was capable of….and he _lied_ about it all. But," he said, with no small amount of resignation, "All the same, I love Kiku. He's been my best friend for years. And I don't wanna forgive him, probably won't for a crap load of time because it hurts so freaking much, but I'm too lazy to hold a grudge forever. I'm hopin' we can work this out one day."

_I love Kiku. _

Ivan smiled. Or tried to. Alfred glanced over at him and blinked, looking a little unnerved. "Uh, you're my bestie too, Ivan. Don't forget that. Say, can I ask you another question?"

He slowly nodded. Alfred uneasily turned his face back to the screen and slowly scooted away from Ivan's touch, making it seem as if he were doing so only for the more comfortable position. Ivan not so subtly inched over, awkwardly dragging his sore foot with him.

"Do you ever miss Russia?"

After thinking carefully, the Russian hesitantly responded. "Sometimes, there are things and places I miss," Ivan confessed, watching Vodka, his large furry body all but blanketing the smaller cat's. "But not very much, I think." He smiled at Alfred, a kind, loving look that made Alfred squirm.

"Things and places," Alfred said, "But not people? You didn't leave behind a lot of friends or family?"

"Not really, Alfredka. My parents….never mind. My sisters are good people. I love them both. I am happy with them and I love my new country. If I never came here, I never would have seen you again."

Alfred gave Ivan a long, funny look. "'Seen you again?' What do you mean by that?"

Mouth drying, childish violet eyes wide, Ivan started and then laughed. "O-oh. I am sorry; I think I mean 'meet you.'" He smiled a boyish, shamefaced smile, fingers fidgeting around his soda can as he took a long draft. "My English…it is gotten so much better, though I still slip up…."

"Nah, yer good," Alfred said breezily, turning his attention back to the game. "Hell, considering how often Arthur got after _me_ for butchering the English language…" His brow furrowed. "Huh. Haven't thought of the jerk in weeks. Hope he's okay."

If by 'okay' Alfred meant chained to a boulder and rotting underwater, Ivan was inclined to think Arthur was just fine.

~*oOo*~

_Ivan howled._

_He howled and kicked and fought, but the old man held him fast, even as his arm shook with agony, blistering under the bubbling water. He screamed for Natalya, screamed for Katyusha, screamed if only for the sake of screaming. But no one came, not Mama, who'd shot herself, not Papa, who was gone forever, and not his sisters, who either didn't hear him or were too afraid to come out. None of Ivan's shrieks reached the heart of the maniac who held him there, forced him to watch as his hand and forearm swelled with pain, angry red blisters breaking out underneath the hot water._

_After a moment, Stepfather wrenched Ivan out, only to slam him against the wall, eye to eye with his stepson, who was too petrified to cry. Those terrible dark eyes were no longer twinkling, but instead glowing with a rage so terrible it seemed as his stepfather was about to catch fire, or was willing his only stepson to. Ivan wet himself again, biting his lip to keep himself from calling out. If the man were looking at him like this, he was now in for one of the "discussion" parts of their father-son moments, and if he didn't let the man speak, Ivan didn't put it past him to strike him again, or worse, head back towards the stove._

_"I treat you well, don't I?" He shook Ivan._

_"D-Da, of course, of course-"_

_"Then why do you sneak food behind my back? Ivan, that makes you seem very ungrateful. Makes me feel as if you don't appreciate the work I put in to keep you and your sisters alive." Stepfather drew a yellow nail against Ivan's throat, where his pulse was practically ricocheting off his neck. "Makes me feel as if bad little boys like yourself ought to go in the oven. Do you suppose your little bitch Katyusha could make something tasty out of you?" As if serious, he looked towards the stove, where the oven was waiting, dark and gaping and hungry. "Why, I have half a mind to find out..."_

_"Nyet!" Ivan screeched. "Nyet! I will be good boy! I will not steal food! Please don't throw me in there!"_

_His stepfather leered at him, and then threw him bodily to the ground. Ivan barely had enough time to roll onto his back so that the weight didn't fall on his swelling arm. "Oh, I don't know about that, Ivan. You wet sheets, soil nice clothes I get for ungrateful boy's back, I am thinking you are more pig than little boy. Pigs go into the oven, to tree stump where ax is. Would you like that?"_

_Tears were falling thick and fast down Ivan's face. "Nyet. Nyet. I will be good. I will be good."_

_"A good pig? Then keep squealing and crawl into the oven, hideous little beast you are."_

_"Nyet! I will be good boy!"_

_His stepfather scooped him up by the hair, while the tiny boy fought and shrieked. "If I see you in here ever again when I have not called you, I will butcher you myself. Go out into woods and look for food, pig you are. No supper tonight."_

_Ivan fell to the ground, and this time he fell against his swollen arm. His vision turned white, and his arm became one stinging star of pain._

_"Get out!"_

_He didn't have to be told twice; he picked himself and ran, ran out the door, too frightened to think about grabbing his coat. The cold air broke over him, but Ivan ran down the steps and buried his arm into a white snowmound he had created just that morning when he shoveled the walk. Oh, the pain, pain, pain that broke out when he started scooping white snow onto the poor burned limb, horrified that the burning only got worse..._

_After a few minutes though, instead of burning, his arm began to numb slightly, though it still quivered with pain, still angry, still puffy and swollen. Soaked through the skin with snow, Ivan wandered off to the dusty old shed, in which he kept a change of clothes, a scarf, and an old hood of Katyusha's behind a pile of old farming equipment._

_He could see his breath in the shed. And while his body shook with cold as he peeled his dirty clothes off him, his arm still burned._

_Wiping the tears from his face, Ivan wondered if he ought to see Katyusha. The only thing she could use to treat him with was more handfuls of snow, and she was probably still senseless in the hayloft after what stepfather did to her. Natalya couldn't do much else other than commiserate with him, probably insist on clutching him like a ragdoll._

_Besides, if he were caught entering the house again right now..._

_He'd dreamed of stealing off to the great black and silver forest behind the house with a treat in hand, and he didn't wank to trek through it defeated once again. Even if the large trees could protect him from stepfather's eyes-_

_No._

_Ivan at last understood that no one and nothing could protect him from that. He had to get out. He would keep walking and not stop, at least until something better came along or until his arm stopped hurting or he fell down dead._

_Shoes now wet with snow (he had not thought to bring his too-small boots out into the shed), Ivan waddled out, keeping his wounded arm exposed to the chilly air. Without another thought, he headed down the drive, and thought just to keep walking straight ahead. It wasn't as if it especially mattered which direction he went in, so long as it was AWAY._

_Katyusha had given Ivan a few old bus tokens of hers for his birthday a few months ago, so Ivan thought to ride the buses to St. Petersburg. After walking for some time, he waited for half an hour at a bus stop until one finally came lumbering up the road. Feeling like an adult, he'd handed the driver his token and sat down to look at the flat, wintry world outside, trying to ignore the prickling coming from his blistered arm._

_After awhile, the hunger pains returned, but the child endured them stoically as strangers wandered in and out of the buses, and he wandered from one bus station to the next, following the mass hordes of people rather than trying to make out the signs._

_After two or three hours, he arrived in the bustling city of St. Petersburg as a tiny, misanthropic little creature, alone amongst a horde of tourists running around with cameras and bright smiles on their faces. It had started to snow softly overhead, and Ivan explored the historical metropolis aimlessly, remembering the times Mama had brought him here after work, back when HE hadn't been so sick and so dangerous and so suspicious._

_How long he walked, he didn't know. His arm hurt. His legs hurt. His feet hurt. He imagined that even his hair hurt after being tugged at so hard. Ivan was grateful that he didn't have long hair like Natalya, who occasionally got it tied to things when Stepfather refused to take his medication and had a wild spell.  
_

_After circling the statues and sights open to the public, he decided to make his way over to one of his favorite sites: the Fountains of St. Peterhof. There time-worn, still stoic, golden princes wrestled open the mouths of lions, with jets of water rocketing into the air. It was probably too cold to try and set off the Joke Fountains or to see bubbling water catch sunlight, but sometimes tourists threw coins in and made a wish. Maybe Ivan could supplement a meal on wishes, or at least a small snack from the vendors. He was getting lightheaded now, and the thrill of independence was wearing thin in light of the emptiness gnawing at his tummy once again._

_When he reached the magnificent fountains, his arm by now was starting to burn again so badly that he hastily undid his coat and thrust his arm into a freezing, marble pool of water, his fingertips almost immediately numbing. Suppressing a whine, Ivan looked at the great golden figures and wondered what it might be like to be one of them, not having to eat, being surrounded by a sea of people who oohed and ahhed over you every day and took photos of you and their loved ones together, of having coins tossed at your feet simply by existing._

_Lost in his thoughts, Ivan almost didn't notice the tugging at his shoulder. When he turned around, he saw a young boy, perhaps his age, though a little smaller than he was, smiling up at him. His clean, jonquil-colored hair reminded Ivan of the fountain figures, and his eyes were bluer than anything he'd seen before. _

_The boy babbled some complete nonsense to him. curious eyes wandered to the limb soaking in the icy water, and his eyes widened. Letting out a startled squeak and an exclamation, he grabbed hold of Ivan's free arm and said something he could not understand. Some two-bit tourist. _

"Get away from me!" _Ivan snarled in Russian. The tiny boy staggered back, looking shocked, a little hurt. Then, he abruptly ran away. A little satisfied, Ivan watched him go before diving his arm back into the cold, cold water. The kid looked well-cared for, glowed good health. Let him go back to the Daddy and Mommy who_ didn't _string him up by the ankles when he didn't bring enough firewood into the house, or hit him with extension cords. _

_For awhile, he thought those children only existed on TV. But walking around St. Petersburg was an unhappy reminder that they did indeed exist, hateful creatures they were. Ivan envied them so badly he thought his heart would stop. _

_He turned his attention back to the burns, but just then a large hand clasped his shoulder. Alarmed, thinking of the police and wondering if he'd broken some kind of law, Ivan immediately dropped the cold coins he had clenched in his hand, purple eyes full of fear. _

_For a moment, he had the foolish notion that the English-speaking tourist had suddenly grown up; there were the glasses, the blond hair, the blue eyes, full of gentle concern, but he was taller, much taller, more muscular, and in military uniform. The tiny boy who'd approached Ivan was clinging his hand, staring at the little Russian boy cautiously, as if Ivan were a zoo animal he thought might bite. _

_He bent to Ivan's level, and the boy was astonished to hear him speak in accented and halting Russian: "Hello there, young man." _

_The man's eyes fell on Ivan's scalded arm, and confusion and sympathy lit up his features. Ivan just stared at him. _

_"My son Alfred here says that you could use some help."_

~*oOo*~

"It's funny…did I ever tell you that I've actually been to Russia once?" Alfred asked lightly, his attention back on the Tetris game. "Just once. A long time ago, when Dad was still stationed overseas. We missed him like crazy, so Mom took Mattie and I over to visit the last two weeks of his term. Don't remember much of it, but it was pretty fun. Pretty damn cold, though, and Mattie pukes whenever he so much as hears the word 'borscht.'" He snickered. "Damn, this sounds horrible, but I'm glad I wasn't the one with food poisoning….St. Petersburg was real pretty."

Ivan said nothing. Alfred continued, frowning a little. "Met this kid there…I forget his name, but he was real nice. Never knew what happened to him."

_Little one, he came to find you. _

~*oOo*~

_He should have run away. Ivan knew this, knew that he should have raced back to the safety of the woods where he could nurse and lick his wounds in private, at least until Katyusha came to her senses and could help clean them. And he would have. If Mr. Jones—as the man introduced himself as—hadn't had such nice, concerned eyes that were almost completely alien to Ivan, strange and fascinating and a little scary. If the small boy hadn't tugged on his sleeve and asked him something Ivan couldn't understand, but sounded kind. If he hadn't been quite so hungry. Or so desperate. Or willing to accept kindness from strangers. _

_Mr. Jones took Ivan to a nearby clinic, where they covered the red, raw flesh with disinfectants and ointments that stung so badly Ivan cried. The little boy called Alfred clung onto his other hand, and Ivan felt himself squeezing at it for dear life_.

_The man called Mr. Jones had been gently asking Ivan a few questions to help distract him from the discomfort; his favorite food, his favorite color. But now, as Ivan hastily swallowed the painkillers the doctor gave him in a little cup, he wanted to know the unthinkable: "You don't have to tell me how you got those burns if you don't want to, but can you at least tell us your name?"_

_Ivan glowered suspiciously at the man, painfully fidgeting from one foot to the other as the doctor carefully wrapped up the poor arm._

_"Alexei." He certainly didn't want to use his real name just in case Mr. Jones decided to call social services. Ivan liked the name Alexei, which was the name of the last tsarevitch in all of Russia. It also made him think of the name 'Alfred,' and it would be nice to have something in common with his new friend._

_Friend._

_He squeezed Alfred's hand harder, grateful when the small boy squeezed back.  
_

_When they came out of the hospital, Ivan bearing a sterilized bandage and a lozenge which he sucked on like a starving kitten will a teat, Mr. Jones started speaking in Russian again. "It's a shame you can't meet the Missus, but she's back at the hotel with Alfred's brother Matthew. He doubled up with a bellyache sometime after dinner last night…don't think Russian food agrees with him." He glanced over at his son and babbled something in English, and the little American boy grinned a grin with two missing teeth. Mr. Jones laughed. "Alfred says he has a stomach of steel, and indeed he does. I'm thinking he could swallow all of Russia and ask for dessert." Again, he repeated his words in the funny foreign tongue, and Ivan watched Alfred pout and playfully kick at dirt before sassily responding, crossing his arms. Mr. Jones rolled his eyes._

_"And because my son has to one-up me, he would like me to let you know that he could easily swallow the world if he tried real hard for breakfast, and eat Mars for lunch. Speaking of food, are you hungry, Ivan?"_

_"Da!"_

_"Yes!" Alfred exclaimed, without waiting for a translation. Perhaps the words were simply universal._

_"Will your mother mind if you come along with us?" He gave Ivan a long, queer look. Ivan shook his head, suddenly eager but still shy._

_"N-nyet. I walk around all the time by myself."_

_Mr. Jones gave Ivan a sad, troubled glance but didn't comment._

~*oOo*~_  
_

Later that evening, the Jones went out for dinner and some errand, and Ivan waited until their car had been swallowed up by the distance before he returned to their house, unlocking the door with a spare key he'd stolen weeks ago. He'd hurried up the stairs to Alfred's room, sinking onto the bed and burying his face in the blankets.

_What did he do, what did he do, what did he do? _

_You were the angel promised to me. Then and now. You gave me hope. _

He curled up in a tiny ball, clutching one of Alfred's pillows to his chest. He wished he'd had enough foresight to bring a new pillowcase to swap for one that smelled like Alfred; he inhaled the scent and his hand snaked down into his pants, and Ivan groaned, grinding his hips into the touch, imagining Alfred's body bucking against him, clutching him closer.

But the pleasure abruptly cooled when an unsavory memory struck him with all the energy of a runaway train.

_"It's been freaking me out so much lately I almost feel like someone's freaking __watching __me in my sleep…I know it's probably all bullcrap, but I've been havin' real messed up dreams lately. Like someone tying me up and pointing a gun to my head, or something."_

He had been distressing his love with his affection. _Frightening_ him. Ivan let out a moan, clawing at his palms, his face. His hand snaked under the scarf he always wore, where the old scar and the still-healing wounds he inflicted on himself for attempting to defile his darling rested.

No. No. Not _him_. He was the angel's protector. The sunflower wasn't _allowed_ to be frightened of its caretaker; it simply didn't _work_ that way. Kiku. Yes, Kiku was at fault now. Alfred believed Kiku had been his admirer; let him think so. Let Kiku be the friend who betrayed his trust.

And like anyone else who crossed his sweet, he would die because of it.

Ivan slowly crawled out of bed, wandering across the room to a small drawer where Alfred kept old memories, old wooden soldiers and fingerpaintings and graduation tassels and certificates. Breathing heavily, he silently slid the drawer open and pulled out a small scrapbook that Mrs. Jones had made. He flicked open to a few of Alfred's kindergarten pages, where the boy grinned cockily next to a more timid-looking double of himself.

Such a precious little face! Such a sweet and lovely and precious little face that had taken pity on him all those years ago, turned an absolutely miserable day into one of the most beautiful of his life.

A hot tear splashed on Alfred's face, and then another tear joined the first.

After he had gotten home that evening, his stepfather had ignored him up until midnight, when he'd dragged Ivan out of bed to the old well out back and lowered him down, raving about something the little boy couldn't understand. Ivan stared blankly at the floor, fainting listening to the sound of a car moving past the house and a dog barking somewhere, but _hearing_ the sound of water _splish, splash, sloshing_ against stone, his own shaking hands….

So cold. And such a tiny, tiny space. So very deep down, so full of water, so cold and dark. He wasn't sure he preferred the bone-biting chill of deep underground over the awful burning that had made him scream and cry.

Disgusted with himself, Ivan slowly shook his head and carefully slid the photo outside the plastic covering. Such thoughts. There were from a time when it was possible to care about anything but Alfred, when he'd had the delusion that there had been anything other than Alfred that ultimately mattered. They needed to be left behind in the dark, now that he'd been granted a candle. A luminous candle.

He tucked the photo inside his coat pocket; with any luck, Alfred would never know it was missing. He flipped through the small album, the pleasant warmth fluttering in his chest giving way to a decidedly unpleasant chill when he came across a picture of Alfred and Elizabeta at one of little Alfred's birthday parties. The little boy's arms were thrown around a grinning, miniature Elizabeta, who was holding a bowling ball.

_Elizabeta._ Ivan resisted the urge to reach for a match in his pocket and burn the photo, watching the little girl's smile slowly smolder away. Her face would be so much more attracted if splashed with acid, her eyelids tapered shut, her little mouth and nose glued together in an incomprehensible blur of scarred flesh. Ivan's breathing picked up, and he crumpled the photo in a ball before throwing it to the back of the drawer, slamming it shut.

_Keep calm. Keep calm_. Ivan hadn't gotten this far doing what he did so well by losing his composure. The stillness of death made him tranquil, but that wasn't an option right now. He forced himself to keep staring at Alfred's shy smile, tracing the boy's face with a fingertip, caressing it. A second later, he leaned forward and began to lick at it.

He counted back from ten in his head, breathing heavily. Seeing his sunshine made him at peace. Made him feel cleaner, kept IT and THEM away. When he was around Alfred, Ivan could be any other person. Be _happy_. Be a regular young man on a sport's team or someone hanging out with friends. The very thing he had wished for for so many terrible years under his stepfather's thumb, when he had first tasted murder.

But he still had a mission. The angel had to be sheltered, from IT and THEM festering, leering. The angel was Ivan's safety, his sanity. If Kiku or anyone else touched it, they would_ take_ it, _greedy, vile, **shit-filled bastards** _they were. They would take Ivan's treasure for themselves and Ivan would roast them over a barbeque, stab them in the eyes.

Ivan let out a strange, keening sound, something between a snicker and a croak of anguish, tearing at his hair. How had this happened? Alfred had once only been a small oasis of light in a darker life. He'd known that in all likelihood, he would never see the American again. While he was fairly certain that this was the right town and right state to head to, for all he knew Alfred's father had been stationed again, and the family was living overseas. Alfred might've been in sunny California, or in Texas, or in China.

But when Ivan was done swallowing the shit the allegedly higher mind kept spoonfeeding him and finished vomiting it in their faces, the question hadn't been whether or not to leave as it had been _when_ and _where_. A small town in Minnesota had been a good a place as any to go. If Alfred was here, he would be here, and if he had already left, well, at least Ivan had come to a place that had given birth to such a beautiful flower.

It was destiny. The bloom had been found again, despite all odds, and Ivan had to nourish it as his thanks. In brightest day or deepest night, Ivan would be standing vigil to make sure that the angel was happy, its eyes bright and warm, and if he had to cut its wings so that it would stay, well….he would make the angel see and understand. He would carry it like a porcelain doll wherever it wanted to go, never letting its feet touch the floor. Because somewhere along the way, Alfred became everything. The bright star of his past, the hope for the future, a painfully beautiful angel Ivan wanted to ravish until his body gave out, and a little child Ivan wanted to cradle, worship, and hold to his heart, become his heart.

Alfred was his. _His._ He was a blessing meant for Ivan, and once the Russian convinced Alfred that his life would be much better without the little Japanese vermin, Ivan would swoop down like a hawk and swiftly behead the mouse. Or give him an acid bath. Or bury him alive. Yes, burying Kiku alive sounded quite lovely, but then Ivan wouldn't be able to watch Kiku bleed, watch the blood of the _grimy, louse-ridden, snarling abomination _slowly ooze across the pavement, pooling and glistening like a flow of rubies as the light faded from Kiku's ugly, muddy eyes. He would have to gouge them out, so that the worms wouldn't have to be bothered with eating something so repulsive.

An appropriate atonement. _Death, death, death, death._ He needed to kill. If he did not find a replacement soon, either Kiku or Elizabeta would receive their death warrant. He wasn't especially picky which one it was.

_All the same, I love Kiku. He's been my best friend for years. _

He loved Alfred. Ivan's eyes burned, and he crawled back over to the bed, shaking like a frightened child during a thunderstorm.

Ivan couldn't touch Kiku if the angel truly cared about him. Couldn't dispose of Elizabeta, either. Oh, he wanted to, and desperately, but the idea of seeing Alfred with tears streaming down his face, blue eyes full of anguish, of knowing that HE caused it….

Hurting the angel. An unthinkable crime, worse than what had happened to him and his sisters at the hands of a beast.

Ivan would be powerless to stop IT and THEM.

And Alfred would be in danger. Unacceptable.

But Kiku had kissed Alfred. Told him he loved him. Made light of his feelings. Unforgivable. He'd attempted to steal the little light that Ivan had found in his life, and one way or another, Ivan would slaughter him for it.

He crooned sweet nothings to the pillow in his arms and soothed himself with a cacophony of Kiku shrieking, squealing as Ivan tore into him, his nails scraping against bone as he gouged out the boy's lower intestine and used it to strangle the dying, thrashing man.

Ivan couldn't kill Elizabeta, even if she had taken the wonderful first kiss. She was but an idiot, an idiot who didn't know what her lips had touched, that the sweet lamb belonged to Ivan. Once she learned a little sense and kept her distance, Ivan could allow her to live. It was his sunshine's wish, and if Alfred were happy, so was Ivan.

_Happy, happy, happy. _He and Alfred, happy together, as one entity. Ivan closed his eyes, He wanted to submerge himself into that body, or have the body sink into him, completely consumed until it was impossible to tell where Ivan or Alfred began or ended.

He felt a stab of pity for his little sister, forever sentenced to the straitjacket. _Become one. Become one_. That had been her sole wish for so many years. If she loved Ivan even a fraction of what he felt for Alfred, the desire had to be unbearable, all-consuming.

But if this was madness, it was beautiful, and he would swan-dive into it.

The Russian tugged out a string of rosary beads from his pocket, and then abruptly pulled it to pieces. The beads clattered to the floor.

_Hail Mary, full of Grace. Another sinner falls._

* * *

~*oOo*~

The next morning, Alfred awoke, ignored the five messages that were on his phone, and, as per usual, rode with Ivan to school (Matthew had already arrived there early for a student council meeting). Chatting happily about a scary movie the two had seen two weeks ago, Alfred almost didn't see Kiku waiting at the front doors, wringing his gloved hands. The blond withered and looked away.

Kiku stepped forward to speak, but Ivan draped an arm around Alfred's shoulder and casually guiding him away, blithely ignoring Kiku, excepting for a smug glance back in the abandoned boy's direction, triumphant purple eyes narrowing. Kiku seethed, and ran forwards just as Ivan and Alfred started walking down the hall.

Heads turned as the two started walking, and voices hushed to whispers immediately. Alfred curiously glanced around, wondering what all the fuss was about. Everyone knew he wasn't gay, was used to seeing Ivan drift behind him like a second shadow, so what was going on? He felt dozens of eyes on him, but instead of reveling in his normal spotlight, Alfred began to feel uneasy. Something was up.

With great difficulty, Kiku squeezed his way free through the throngs of people in the halls, practically running to keep up with their long strides. "Alfred-kun, Alfred-kun, please, I want to talk to you!"

Alfred kept his face on the floor, scowling miserably. Despite his words last night, all the confusion and hurt and resentment had collapsed on him like a tidal wave when he'd seen Kiku again.

Ivan, bless his heart, continued babbling-a role Alfred normally had, but he seemed to be doing his best to drown out the traitor. But judging by the hurried footsteps behind them, Kiku wasn't giving in this time.

"Please, Alfred-kun, I know you're upset, but we have to talk-it wasn't me, you have to believe me-I wouldn't have done that to you or to her-"

What the hell was Kiku talking about? Guy was probably just trying to catch his interest, his attention. Alfred approached his locker and started fighting with the lock and handle, the way he did every morning. Ivan stood close beside him; a guard.

Kiku rushed up to the two of them, giving Ivan an ugly look that the Russian reciprocated with a toothy smile. He made to stride up to Alfred, but Ivan pushed him away as the blond quietly picked up the books for the day. "Alfred, please, this isn't just about the kiss, it's about the heart-"

Alfred irritably slammed his locker door shut with more force than need be. "Kiku, you got me. You had your laugh. Now get bent, and leave me alone."

"I concur," Ivan piped up. Kiku muttered something in Japanese that probably constituted as a horrific swearword. "Al-chan," he begged, blushing as he seized his best friend's sleeve. "What I did last night wasn't fair to you, and I'm _so, so sorry_ for it. You are my favorite person in world, and I don't want to screw up our friendship for anything."

Alfred forced himself to keep looking away from Kiku's direction. He wanted to make up, wanted to make up, wanted to punch Kiku in the face and break his nose. "Seems pretty screwed up as it is."

"So leave him alone," Ivan suggested, taking Alfred's arm and pulling him away. But Kiku seized Alfred's other arm, the one holding his books so that they all went tumbling to the floor. Bewildered, Alfred silently gaped as he found himself in a very strange tug of war between two individuals who were glaring at each other so fiercely you'd think they were mentally dueling.

"Alfred, our friendship is stronger than that! But even if you do not want to be friends anymore, you must be very careful, because your so-called 'admirer' is getting dangerous!"

"Are you trying to threaten him, Kiku?" Ivan asked sweetly, face set in an awful smile. Kiku's eyes narrowed.

"Hey, can you two please leggo of me?" Alfred pleaded. He was ignored.

"I am not a stalker, not a liar, and I would never hurt Alfred-kun, unlike you, who threatens the lives of the people who care about Alfred-kun! _You're_ the liar, and _you're_ the sick man who nearly gave poor Elizabeta a heart attack last night with your awful prank!"

The hallway had grown very quiet. People were stopping to stare. Bewildered, Alfred wrenched himself free of Kiku's arm and tried to pull back from Ivan, whose grip had now tightened almost painfully. "Iv, what the hell's he talking about? What awful prank?" he asked, turning to look at Kiku, who was staring at him imploringly. "What d'you guys-HEY! Lizzy!"

His longtime crush came down the opposite hall, dark circles under her eyes, clutching her books to her chest. Ivan's hold turned as weak as a kitten's, and Alfred ran over to her, face flushed. "Hey, Elizabeta! So, uh, I was wondering what flowers ya like, and I—"

The brunette walked on as if she didn't hear anything. Alfred gaped at her uncertainly for a moment, wondering what he had done. Didn't girls like flowers? He hurried to catch up with her, noting that she seemed a lot paler than usual.

"Lizzy, what's wrong?"

Elizabeta didn't seem to notice him. She smiled uneasily and inched away, hastily turning around, ignoring Alfred's attempts to call her back. Roderich approached her from out of the crowd, putting a hand on her shoulder and casting poor Alfred a dark look before he guided her away.

Nonplussed and more than a little hurt, Alfred just stood there in the middle of the hallway like a lost puppy. A hand touched his shoulder, and he looked up to see his twin standing beside him, violet eyes both disturbed and sympathetic. "Al, she's just a little freaked out right now. Something really weird happened to her yesterday after she came home from school."

Alfred just stared at his sibling, waiting. It sounded like Mattie were setting him up for some kind of joke. "Alright. Well, what's the punch line? What happened?"

"It's not a joke, bro," Matthew said wearily. "Brace yourself, because this next part's gonna freak you out."

"Why? Did…did someone hurt her?" If some mugger or creeper tried to gang up on her, Alfred had to admit that he felt more worried about _their_ safety, rather than Lizzy's.

Matthew hesitated, "A heart was nailed….to her door."

Alfred stared at his brother uncomprehendingly. "Uh…a valentine?"

"No, Al. A real heart. The organ heart. A pig's heart!" Matthew exclaimed hastily, because his brother showed signs of throwing up or fainting. "The police came and forensics revealed that it was a pig's heart…but someone left a message with it. In blood."

The world was swaying dangerously before his eyes, though that might have been Alfred himself, considering Matthew was gently asking him if he wanted to sit down. Alfred staggered back against the lockers, making a loud _clanging_ noise. "W-what did it say?"

Matthew just gazed at him, his normal human waylaid with concern, a concern Alfred desperately wanted to see evaporate. "Damn it, Mattie, what did it say?"

He sighed.

"'He's mine,'" he said dully, taking off his glasses and polished them with the end of his sweater. "Nothing else. The neighbors were asked and no one saw anything, but the authorities are guessing that the heart was nailed in yesterday at about 3 or 4ish. The police…they kinda want to talk with you, Al. Chances are, you're connected with this."

Alfred threw his brother an alarmed look, sputtering.

"I_ never_ would have—why would I—how _could _I—"

"I know, Alfred," Matthew soothed, pulling his stunned brother into a hug. "An officer came by to talk with me…he thought I was you. But you've got a solid alibi here: You were at Kiku's until 5:00, right?"

Alfred felt a brief sense of elation that quickly died out, like a butterfly before a cold gale. Kiku hadn't been the culprit this time. Upset or hurt he might have been, he hadn't gone out and done anything truly terrible. Kiku just wasn't that sort of guy. He felt ashamed of himself.

That only left…

But once again, it couldn't have been Ivan. He'd had a sprained ankle, wasn't in any condition to hobble to someone's door, let alone try to hammer in an organ on one foot. Someone would have noticed.

He shook his head.

"But what if it wasn't over me at all?" he asked hopefully. "Maybe it was some angry chick with the hots for Roderich or Gilbert. Or maybe it was just some messed-up kid's random ass prank."

"Neither of them are seeing anyone else right now, Alfred," Matthew said hesitantly. "I don't want to believe it, but…I don't think we have any other choice but to believe that the same person who's been leaving valentines in your locker and at our place might be responsible for this."

Kiku could never go that far.

Would he?

Could he?

No. Never. With all his heart, Alfred knew Kiku was innocent. The handwriting in the notes was wrong, and even if he'd asked someone else to write it down for him, ten years of knowing Kiku taught him that the guy simply wasn't that devious. Didn't have it in him to be. Hell, Kiku had apologized half a dozen times for that kiss last night, looked so horrified with himself that it had been almost comical.

As if from a great distance, he heard his brother speak again: "There IS the chance that this was something random, but who would go through the trouble of finding a pig to kill or a heart to collect unless there was some deeper reason? Al, I'm guessing someone knew about your plans to ask Lizzy out, and they got angry, maybe even scared. Regardless, this has been going on for months now, and this person seems to know everything about you." Matthew leaned up against the lockers and thrust his hands in his pockets, thinking carefully.

"Your favorite candy, how to deliver without being caught, your first locker combination, your second locker combination, hell, even your favorite restaurant, judging by that gift card…o-our address…."

"How to open my window," Alfred murmured as he slowly slid to the ground. From across the hall, Kiku and Ivan ran to him, Ivan "accidentally" tripping Kiku along the way, whilst the Japanese boy seized his scarf and attempted to tug him back. When the Russian gave him a look so full of petrifying fury however, Kiku immediately let go as if he burned. The two raced on opposite sides of the teen, each trying to make him look at them.

"Alfredka! **Почему подсолнечник страшно**?"

"Alfred-chan, are you alright?!"

Matthew was gawking at Alfred, a look of absolute horror dawning on him. "…what?" he croaked feebly, as Kiku anxiously shook his best friend. "You're….oh, god, tell me you're joking."

Very hesitantly, Alfred shook his head. "One night, I had a weird dream….someone was t-touching me everywhere." His breathing hitched, a bead of sweat running down the nape of his neck. "It felt seriously real…and when I woke up, I thought it was just a dream, but my window was…wide open. And on my neck…." Alfred's hand wandered to his pulse. "I wore a turtleneck that day to cover the mark. And someone left a flower near my pillow, too."

Matthew swore. "Holy shit, Alfred, someone _breaks into the house_ and you don't tell anyone?!"

"I didn't know what to do!" his twin shot back angrily, helplessly. "I…I got scared, and confused, and I was so freaked out I just…"

He trailed off. Ivan was soothingly rubbing his back, his eyes full of emotion. Alfred pulled away, buried his face into the shoulder of his brother, the one person in the world he felt he could trust anymore.

"Mattie," he said weakly as he pulled away, Matthew staring anxiously into his eyes. "I've got a stalker. And they really are fucking playing for keeps."

~*oOo*~

The police really weren't much help. They were polite and asked a lot of questions, but Alfred felt nothing resolved at the end of their little Q&A session. He reluctantly handed over some of the notes he'd received from his visitor, told the cops no, he did not make it a habit to hand out his personal information, and no, never had a relationship or ever broke up with anyone particularly possessive or obsessive.

It didn't get much better when the office insisted on calling his parents. Mr. Jones was angry with his son for not coming forward sooner, and Mrs. Jones promised to have a good, long talk with him when he came home. Like he asked for this person to start dumping all this stuff on him! Like he asked for the long love letters or the poems or the dreams at night where he got carried off in the arms of some shapeless monster with glowing white eyes!

By the time they let him go, it was already lunchtime. Alfred joined his friends at their usual table, but didn't touch his food, blue eyes exhausted and bereft of their normal joy. No one else seemed very hungry either, excepting for Ismael, who munched on his food as if nothing were wrong, though his eyes were much colder than usual, fixed on Alfred.

When the bell rang and everyone left, he and Ivan went to Music class, though Alfred asked permission to leave after a few minutes for the bathroom. He splashed himself with cold water, staring at his wet, pale face.

Not Kiku. He was happy, because he didn't want it to be Kiku, was unhappy, because hell, he wanted answers, a face he could pin these _visits_ to! He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, smoothing it out under the dingy lighting. This was the one he hadn't wanted to give to the policemen-he doubted it would tell them anything new-though he had the love note near memorized:

_Childish dreams were lost in the sea, _

_A raging storm by the raging man's ire,_

_Or otherwise consumed in ennui, _

_A hearth with only ashes-and no fire. _

_After again tasting the bitter medicine_

_Offered by a master's warm and tender knife _

_I rushed out the door, and determined then_

_That I would find, or at least steal a better life._

_I wandered until I came upon a garden of steel_

_Of honored heroes, timeless yet old _

_When a darling did come and offered to heal _

_My wound. A living statue of gold!_

This sounded familiar to Alfred. But _why_? Hell, he wasn't a living statue of gold, by any means, but...

_Statues. Cold air._ Where had he seen statues before?

_This hallmark of goodness was lost to me _

_A fact I merited with many tears _

_And so I surrendered myself to my misery_

_As lonely nights turned to lonely years. _

_The angel! My angel! It had taken pity_

_ So many times, love haunted my dreams_

_Rooting the evil thoughts deep within me_

_Heralding my eyes with its smiling beams._

_My precious, my immortal beloved, I dare to write _

_But with all the world's ink, I do not believe_

_I can ever grasp your magnificence; your light_

_My sweet little one, my sacred Apple of Eve._

There was more, mostly rambling on how Alfred was probably the best thing than sliced bread. Alfred glanced again into the mirror and saw that he was blushing again. He'd thought for sure the poem had been copied down from some big dead hotshot's work, but he'd looked up the lines online and hadn't been able to find anything. No one had written poetry for him before.

Was this some seriously besotted girl? Or a guy? What was he supposed to do if it were a guy? Alfred remembered the way Kiku had grabbed both sides of his face and kissed passionately, shook his head. He knew it in all likelihood wasn't Elizabeta, a fact that left him bitterly disappointed.

Once again, it could not be Ivan. His grasp on the English language still wasn't so hot; how many times had he pleaded for Alfred to come over to his place to help him with his Language Arts homework?

Alfred turned his attention back to the dog-eared love poem, going over the first few stanzas.

Statues. Healing. A dim outline of something he _sort of_ recollected, all the more infuriating because it was still obscure. Almost as if the thought itself were taunting him. Alfred grimaced and racked his memories.

_Cold. Gold. He could vaguely make out the silhouette of a boy; he remembered that much. A wall of light and color, a bell ringing, he was babbling something about Superman...then tears rolling down his face..._

"_Dios mio_, is jerkhead actually usin' his noggin to think fer a change? Don't tell yer Mama that, else she's gonna faint."

Irritated, Alfred looked up at the mirror to see a smirking Ismael standing behind him, arms crossed. "Get bent, you bastard," he snapped, carefully folding up the paper so that Ismael could not read it. He had never, ever shared this one, even to his friends. "Just because I don't flip you off when Mattie's around doesn't mean I'm not gonna if you're going to be a prick."

"I'm so scared," the dark-skinned boy drawled, leaned up against one of the stalls. "So sorry for interrupting. You can go ahead and start composing another love letter to yourself."

Alfred gawked at Ismael in disbelief. "I didn't write this! You think I _want_ this to be happening?!"

"Oh, I think you do, ya just don't have anyone screwed up in the head enough to do it," Ismael replied in an even tone, but with a body stance that looked as if he were tensing up for a fight. "And because you've never been able to go without attention fer eight seconds, you're making a total ass out of yourself by pretending as if you've got this great admirer who doesn't see you for the bossy, annoying, loud-mouthed moron you actually are."

"Fuck you, Ismael."

"No, fuck _you_," the stocky man snapped. "I don't know how Matt puts up with half of your shit, don't know why ya gotta shove your stupid ass letters under people's noses when no one writes like that anymore, when ya probably copied that corny crap to make you seem more appealing to girls. Or," he added lightly, "The football team..."

Alfred shoved the letter back inside his pocket, trembling with anger. "You don't know what you're talking about. You're just jealous."

"Jealous? Jealous of the fact that you've got the biggest inferiority complex in the world and have to prance around playing pranks on people just so that you can feel good about yer fuckhead self? Alfred, you were the one who hammered in that heart, weren't you?"

"I didn't do anything!" Alfred shouted. "Now shut it or I'm going to make you!"

Ismael smirked.

"Why, gonna tell the principal the big, bad meanie got after you for being a freaking drama queen? Your feelings matter more than Lizzy's?"

Alfred glared at him, forcing himself not to fly at him and start strangling him then and there. "The hell you want from me?"

"I want you to apologize to Elizabeta for your sick stunt. And to your brother. It's a miracle he's able to put up with the little retard that you are. I personally would have whipped your sorry ass a long time ago. You think just because a few girls that just had a lobotomy think yer cute means that you can scare someone half to death for your lousy reputation?"

"You? Would have whipped me?" Alfred demanded, at the end of his rope. "Why don't you try me, jerkass?"

"Bring it on, fats." Ismael snorted, flying at him with a raised fist. Alfred ducked and slammed his own fist straight at Ismael's cheekbone, but the Cuban sidestepped and swung at his nose. He missed, but still managed to accidentally knock Alfred's glasses to the ground, and in the blond's haste to get away, he accidentally trod on them. Ismael took a step forward, heard the sound of crunching glass and breaking frame underneath his boot. He glanced down, surprised.

"Whoops….well, serves you right, jerkwad!"

This was the last straw. Distraught, Alfred stared at the blur before his eyes before lunging forward again. "That's it, you are dead, you are fucking dead!"

WHAM.

Alfred was slammed against the wall so fast he saw stars explode in front of his messed-up vision. A fist had swung itself into his stomach, winding him and sending the dazed teen crumpling to his knees.

He expected Ismael to come after him again. But he saw a foggy outline of a large beige and white body rush in front of him, hurtling at the darker form. Alfred watched with wide eyes as Ivan easily send Ismael flying to the ground with a well-aimed kick. When he struggled to clamor up, Ivan abruptly body-slammed him, punching every possible inch of Ismael he could reach at.

Befuddled, Alfred uneasily rose to his feet, coughing. The smile on his face soon became fixed, however, when Ivan didn't stop at beating Ismael. The Russian was laughing as if enjoying a particularly good joke, and blood was flowing from Ismael's nose as he struggled like a wildcat, soon giving up at hurting Ivan in return and instead curling up in a ball, trying to shield himself from the swing of Ivan's brutal fists.

Alfred seized the Russian by the shoulders. "Ivan! Ivan, what are you doing?"

"Gerroff! Get the hell off!" Ismael shrieked, now sporting a swollen eye as Ivan kept hurling him against the floor. "_Caramba_, what do you eat every day, cement? Get off! Get off! Get off get off get off get off get off—**aaaaaahhhhh!** Oh God! Dios mio, STOPPIT! Help! HELP ME!"

Alfred knew enough was enough. If the ever-proud Ismael was begging for help, things had already gone too far. With a grunt, he wrapped his arms around Ivan's waist and tugged with all his might. After a moment, Ivan allowed himself to be pulled away, still staring down at the tattered lump on the floor, violet eyes wildly.

"You are alright?" he asked after a moment, turning to look at a thunderstruck Alfred. "Forgive me, I just came in...and he had hit you...I panicked and-"

"S'kay, Ivan. Uh, thanks for the help, though you can let me handle him now...kinda looks like you already handled him…" He tentatively prodded the crumpled figure on the bathroom floor with his foot, perhaps with more force than strictly necessary. "Ismael? Um, are you okay?"

The Cuban kid let out a groan. Alfred inhaled through clenched teeth and turned to look at the ceiling. "That might have been a little far, but he was so asking for it."

"Da."

"Shit. We're so screwed for this. If Ismael blabs."

"It was self-defense," Ivan said. "I would not mind self-defending a bit more, if you would not mind."

Alfred laughed nervously, something dropping in his stomach as Ivan cracked his knuckles.

"_Whoa_, take it easy there, cowboy." He bent over and carefully scooped up his glasses. "Well, these are ruined. Dad's gonna go berserk, but I have a little dough left over from Christmas, so I should be able to….crap," he huffed, remembering."Spent it on that new video game…well, I can just use my spare pair. They're a little cracked in the right lens, but they should be just fine and dandy." Grimacing, he took a look at Ismael's battered and bleeding body on the ground.

"We oughta get him to the nurse's office. Yeech, his nose is bleeding like heck. Mind helping me lift him?"

The Russian said nothing, but he reluctantly bent down, grabbed Ismael by the arm, and bodily dragged him out, Alfred rushing to scoop up his feet.

* * *

A sullen Ismael was being tended to by a harried-looking physician through the window of the nurse's office. Alfred had to squint in order to see.

"That was a little much buddy, but thanks a lot for the rescue," the shorter boy said appreciatively, watching as the nurse pressed several tissues to the Cuban's swollen nose. "I totally could have taken him, just so you know."

"Da, of course." Ivan agreed inattentively, watching Ismael clutch an ice pack to his face, an inscrutable look in his eyes. Alfred shifted from one foot to another, suddenly looking embarrassed.

"Uh…" he said awkwardly, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets, hearing the letter crinkle against his hand. "Look, this'll sound cheesy as all hell, and you can totally laugh at me later for it, but I'm glad of you." He inhaled, exhaled through clenched teeth and stared up at the ceiling. "It's a line from Peter Pan. Totally stupid, I get it, but it's true."

Ivan's eyes sparkled. "I am glad of you too, Alfred. If you are ever needing the help, I will be more than happy to step in."

Alfred smiled as Ivan drew him into a one-armed hug, and he uncertainly patted him on the back. "Yeah, I kinda have that impression..." He sighed when they pulled apart. "Mattie's gonna be pissed. That galoot in there is his best friend. Besides me, of course."

"Was not your fault." Ivan chided gently, giving Alfred's hip an affectionate bump with his own. "He provoked you, and he provoked me by provoking you. In Russia, we do not stand for friends being hit, especially hit in back. He is….ah, I cannot think of right word…what do you call someone who will only hit you in back?"

"I think you mean 'backstabber.' And yeah, I guess he is, punching a guy without glasses and crap. Or something like that. Whatever; he's a huge jerk. Wanna head to Mickey D's and feel sorry for ourselves for awhile?" He noticed a blur of red on Ivan's hand, and his eyes widened. "Dude! He totally got you."

Ivan blankly looked down at the gash on the back of his hand. "Oh, that is nothing. I have been in many scrapes before, da? Will be fine."

"Nah, lemme clean it," Alfred said good-naturedly, leading Ivan over to a nearby fountain (bumping into the wall along the way once or twice) and splashing cool water over the angry-looking sore. "I usually have one or two band-aids on me, ever since I tried that insane bicycle stunt over those two parked cars once upon a time….least I got a really cool scar outta that one."

Ivan smiled with his eyes, his gaze wandering over to the nurse's door.

~*oOo*~

"Ivan! Allo, Ivan!"

The last bell of the day had rung, and now students were flooding outside the doors. Ivan had been about to join them when Francis hurried up to him with a kind smile. "We were just going to head to Cafe Blue before we got started on Mr. Vargas' homework...care to join us?"

"Thanks, but no thanks," Ivan said sincerely. "Have some cleaning up to do first."

After most of the school had cleared up, Ivan wandered back in, as an afterthought. Humming, he wandered the empty halls, passing Alfred's locker and his own.

Then, he came to a stop beside locker 624, the locker belonging to Kiku Honda, and started to fiddle with the lock, pulling out a screwdriver from his pocket. When the lock fell free from the locker, Ivan merrily opened it, and tugged out-

_(A belonging.)_

~*oOo*~

The cold compress on his head was doing little to soothe the splitting pain from the lump on his head. Or his pride, for that matter.

Ismael glanced at himself in the rearview window and mentally cussed, would have slammed his face against the steering wheel if he hadn't already been a bruised, bleeding wreck. God freaking damn it. Every inch of him ached like hell, and he was gonna have to come up with a good excuse for his parents as to why he resembled a pound of hamburger meat right now. Damn foreign freak had beaten him raw, and one day, he was going to get even for it.

He would never go running to the principal-his pride would never allow him to be some weak little tattletale girl. _Besides,_ he acknowledged bitterly. _It isn't as though Jones wouldn't weasel his way out of it with his charm and obnoxious grin._ Little brat, little brat and his big, scary friends that beat the tar out of you. How could he ever have expected Alfred to fight fair, like a real man?

He drummed his fingers on the wheel. Damn it, one day soon, if Alfred kept up this ridiculous little 'stalker' facade, Ismael was going to shove a diamond-plated saw so far up Alfred's ass, the guy would be coughing up diamonds. Braginski had been a freaking huge monster, but hell, a little weight-lifting and he could take them both out.

Though Ivan _was_ built like a machine...Ismael rolled his eyes as he pulled up the drive, pushing open the door with some difficulty, clutching his heavily bruised right side, grunting with pain. He staggered to the door, let himself in.

"_Hola_, Mama," he called out wearily, slowly taking off his coat with some difficulty. God, but he hated the cold! "I'm home."

Meanwhile, outside his house, a stranger stared up at the residence with a thoughtful look on his face, a pipe in one hand, a container of gasoline in the other.

* * *

**Aaaannd we can add Ismael's name to the victim list. Did I happen to mention Ivan's activities include arson? **

**Sorry for the lack of updates lately-life and stuff been crappening, lately. Trying to figure out what the hell I want to do with my life, as well as doing play productions. **

**You guys by now have probably noticed a pattern with my work: I tend to write a lot about obsessive love a lot. There is a valid reason, gentle readers, besides the fact of 'OMG ITS so KUTE.' If any of you feel I am sharing too much (as well as ranting too much), please let me know. **

**I grew up in a dysfunctional family. Not family sitcom messed up, more along the lines of messed-up messed-up. As a result, the state granted my sister custody of me while I was still in high school. My former guardian meant well, but she was a very unstable and needy human being who sometimes did terrible things in order to meet her imagined needs. As a result, I became interested in psychology, and exploring stories about obsessive, manic devotion. **

**Writing Psycho and BKB has been a great experience for me, partially because it's wonderful to get everyone's feedback and partially because it helps me get a better understanding of what people are really willing to do under the name of "love." There are many reasons why Arthur from BKB is such a clingy creeper, but one of them is mental illness. There's a sort of barrier in his mind that prevents him from feeling the love we feel for the people in our lives—and yet Alfred sort of just slipped under it. How and why this is so, I can give you no explanation, but Alfred went under a wall to be met with a sort of firing squad, if that makes any sense. He was and is literally the only person Arthur is capable of actually loving, which is why he's a possessive maniac despite the fact that Alfred is his sibling, which he's happy about because he gets to live with him.  
**

**Natalya has essentially the same illness: OLD. Obsessive Love Syndrome.  
**

**Psycho! Ivan is very different; he was fully capable of developing relationships with other people, but this ability was impaired because of the unbelievably inhumane treatment he got from his mentally ill guardian. Considering just what happened to him (not that it makes what he does okay by any means), it sort of makes sense that he believes that some truly awful things are unacceptable only if you get caught doing them. And he's superb at what he does; for each killing he creates an alibi, provides physical proof of innocence, knows where to dump the victims' bodies. His craving for Alfred is very complicated; betwixt gratitude, romance, the urge for murder, and worship.**

**Why do I always use Alfred as the poor little victim of mad affection? Well, numero uno: I think it works because Alfred's clueless. Dos, because I was very much like BKB Ivan (No, not crazy killer Ivan) growing up, very awkward. I think I tended to admire people like Alfred from a distance—cheerful, poised, happy, charismatic, funny—but I was almost afraid of them. Tres: Goddamn it, I do love to see America as an Uke. I'm a patriotic American citizen, by the anyhoo.**

**Long note is long. Love you all. Take care! **

**Next chapter: Scream And I Will Only Love You More.**


	6. Scream And I Will Only Love You More

***~Scream And I Will Only Love You More~***

**Warning: The following chapter is extremely disturbing and no amount of kitty cuteness can make up for it. Normally I'm really afeard of scary stories, but I tried to freak myself out here. The original version was actually much, much worse, but I cooled it down a little so that your stomachs don't eject. **

**Hey, folks. Hope the haps are good ones…my production ended—it was my first one, so I think it went reasonably well, though I don't think we or the play got an especially awesome review. *Facepalms* But enough about my boring life.**

**There's a line in here from one of Tim Burton's movies. Name it and I shall give you a kitty hug! Speaking of cats, I think I referred to Vodka as a Russian Blue, but after some research, realized that the Nekotalia version is actually a Siberian breed (Fynniona, like Ukraine-cat, Kalyna is an Exotic Shorthair. ;) ). Sorry about the mishap. **

**I'm afraid don't know if Happy Meal Guy shall ever be avenged, Lyndsey dear. *Pats on back* If it will make you feel better, you can have this HM Japan keychain. Collect them all or the terrorists win at life!**

**Fun fact: The national flower of Russia is chamomile (which is good because it's a herb to help ease colds), but the Ukrainian flower is a sunflower! Bet Ivan's jealous! **

**Yes, bottle bombs are real (no, I do not make them)! They're sometimes called the "kiddy terrorist's toy," because all you need to make them is Drano, water, a plastic bottle, and foil. About half a minute after you move one of those suckers, they explode. Some people have lost fingers picking up strange bottles they found in their yards. :( Obviously, this is a very bad thing, but it seemed like something Ivan would pick up on. Considering what you guys still don't know about Ivan, this isn't quite so extreme! But still, don't try to make them at home!**

~*oOo*~

* * *

_"Mama, when will you be better?" _

_"Hush, Vanya." _

_A tiny little boy held onto his mother's cold hand, willing the warmth from his own body to flood into it. Tears dripped down a large nose, purple eyes miserable. _

_"I want you to be better now." _

_"And I want you," the bedridden woman said wearily, drawing a hand through graying hair, "To remember that you can't always get what you want. God is calling me home, little one—ah, do not cry so much! Is not a bad thing, you realize."_

_"Why can't he call me home now, too?"_

_"Because it is not your time. You will grow up to be someone very special, my little troll. I feel this in my heart." _

_"How special?" _

_"Very special," the dying woman croaked. "You will find someone who make you feel this way always. Whether you cut trees for living or are fancy celebrity, to someone you will always be mountain, and someone shall always be tremendous star to you, like sun." The old woman closed her eyes and let out a long sad sigh, which sounded like the wind beating itself against the hospital windows. "That was your Papa to me." _

_"Then why did you marry that man?"_

_The woman cast him a very dark look. "You know why. I had no choice." _

_"Mama, please stay here. I don't want you to go to heaven." _

_"Then you are selfish and wicked boy, and you will go to hell if you talk such." _

_"**You** are most important person to me," Ivan begged, trying to crawl up the bed but his mother pushed him away. _

_"The day will come when I am like nothing to you, because I will be dead. There will be precious light in your life that if you do not hold tight to, it will slip away like a fish. Hold fast to it, Vanya, never let it go. Else someone smarter than you will snatch your angel and you will be bereft." _

_"Where is my angel?"_

_"Perhaps looking over you right now," his mother said mysteriously. "Or perhaps you have not yet earned one. Maybe you simply haven't met them yet-maybe you must seek them out yourself. I do not know. But they are waiting, my darling, waiting to heal you and enfold you. When and if the time is right, they will come into your darkest dreams and give you the strength to try again." _

_"Does my angel love me?" _

_"Better than anyone else-it can only ever love you." _

_This sounded remarkably agreeable to Ivan, and the little boy wiped his eyes. "I want my angel right now." _

_"When the time is right, I think they will come to you. They take on many forms, but you will know in your heart when you see them." _

_"I want my angel now." _

~*oOo*~

* * *

It was getting dark out now, and Ivan still hadn't come home. He probably wouldn't be very hungry when he came back—he certainly didn't have much of an appetite these days—but she started preparing dinner just the same. Katyusha was a woman who preferred to have her hands busy every moment of the day, and idle activities like watching TV or even reading a book sometimes made her anxious.

Humming, the young woman sprinkled flour over some dough and began to knead it, glancing at the clock every now and again to amuse herself. After she surmised that the dough was ready and not overworked, she packed the food into a pan before popping it into the oven, straightened up to adjust the dial for the burner.

It was pretty, watching the electric blue flames flicker and sway, rise or fall under her control—a miniature aurora borealis. She smiled at it.

Katyusha heard a dispirited meowing and shook her head, turning to glance at Vodka, who was slowly shuffling across the linoleum, purple eyes staring at the door in a way that made the eldest Braginski put her hands on her hips and chuck sadly. Their cat, who had once seemed so happy and content here was now almost always agitated, plodding restlessly across the apartment to and fro, looking for a place to lie down but getting up to pace again just as soon as he found one. Twice, he tried racing out when someone came home, scampered down all the stairs. The first time she had caught him, the second, well, a crying Katyusha had looked around for him in the cold streets for two hours only to receive a call from her bewildered brother. Somehow, Vodka had appeared at the Jones' house, and was snuggling up with Franklin in front of the fire.

She had rushed there, apologized so many times the words nearly lost all meaning. Thankfully Matthew had been very gracious, laughed about it even, made her a cup of chocolate….

"I think you are missing your little girlfriend, da?" Katyusha asked teasingly, stooping to lovingly tap Vodka's broad nose. "And you just saw her yesterday, too. Lucky Vodka, making friends. Lucky Ivan, making friends," she murmured, standing again to peer into the large pot on the stove. "Is so nice. He is at bonfire with Alfred and his friends tonight, so I am very happy! He is such good friends with Alfred, speaks of him most highly and so often! It's almost like—"

Her ladle slipped from her fingers, splashed into the stew. For a moment, the young woman just stared at it, nonplussed. Then, she started, and hastily scurried to the fridge.

"Oh! I forgot the milk!" she exclaimed, taking out a carton and rushing to the stove. "Can't forget it, or else food will be too watery. Can't have that, now, can we, Vodka?" The cat nuzzled her leg. Katyusha began muttering to herself as she glanced at the timeworn, splattered recipe book in Cyrillic next to her, though she knew its contents by heart:

"The food will be bland if it is watery. And I don't want that. Even if none of us eat it, it should still be good. I don't want to waste food, though, so I hope that we all eat it. And that it won't be bland," she fretted. "Or burned. But cooked properly just the same."

She scooped out a ladle-full of food, her hand shaking so badly that most of it splashed onto the floor. Alarmed, Vodka flitted away, and then darted back to a bit of fallen meat, tentatively sniffing at it before scooping it up with his mouth. Rather than eating it, however, his attention wandered back to the door. Katyusha seized a nearby rag and began to scrub at the immaculate floor.

"O-oh! Thank you, Vodka, saves me the trouble of c-cleaning that bit u-up….I will set the table in a bit, just in case they come home soon. Maybe Alfred will come too…." She swallowed, and pressed her wringing hands against her heart. "I hope he does…..goodness, I hope he will. It is good for Ivan to have friends. Friends keep you busy. Friends keep you out of trouble—"

Starting as if someone had whipped her, a mortified Katyusha stared at the clean floor, clutching her damp rag. She all but staggered to her feet, headed to the garbage, and in an afterthought, threw the rag out the window before sweeping back to the stove, her nails digging into her wrist as she stared at the bubbling stew.

"But my dear little brother would never get in trouble now," she scolded herself, cautiously stirring around the mixture in the pot with her ladle. "He is well. They made him well again. I hope Alfred will come, because the boy has such big appetite and he is always so nice."

A hint of a smile glowed in her powdery blue eyes as she dipped a saucer into the food, pulling it out and blowing on it before tasting. Vodka's purple eyes traveled back to her, and he watched Katyusha attentively, in case she dropped any more morsels.

"He and his brother are so nice when they talk about the cooking….oh, it's still bland!" she exclaimed in dismay, dropping the saucer to the counter, making a loud clattering sound that startled the cat once again. Katyusha hastily started sprinkling liberal amounts of spices from various shakers set at the shelf over the stove, stirring them in before she picked up the saucer again, tremor back in her hand. She tried another sip and then winced, hurriedly setting the dish down to fan her mouth.

"Too spicy, too spicy now, does Natalya like spicy food? I can't remember," she fretted. "Oh, God, I don't remember. I will put more milk in it to mellow flavor. I do not want anyone burning their mouths on the food I cooked," she croaked, dumping a third of the milk into the mixture, stirring feverishly. She scooped out a saucer full once again, and this time lowered it to the floor next to the Siberian cat. "Vodka, tell me what you think, please."

Reluctantly, Vodka dropped the bit of meat and started to lap at the milky stew, getting the front of his whiskers and the edges of his face wet. He tried to swipe himself clean each time he licked at the saucer's contents, and the sight made Ivan's sister laugh a little, easing the rate at which her heart was hammering. When he finished, he picked up the bit of meat again and turned to face the door, mewing hopefully.

"Silly Vodka, Ivan has car. You can't visit her tonight, though is nice thought, feeding her," she said gently, smoothing a disappointed feline's head. "I can't let you run over there and be nuisance, even if you know way. Ivan told me you caught poor bird while at Alfred's house, naughty kitty, and tried to drag it inside." Her brow began to furrow, and for a moment, she traced a pattern on the floor with her fingertip, foot tapping restlessly at her side. "It is not good to chase the birds. It is not…not good to make trophies out of them."

The silence had only a second to carry on before the girl wrenched herself back to her feet, shaking like mad. She scooped the ladle up again and, not bothering to blow on it, took another sip, burning her lips in the process. But that didn't seem to distress her nearly as much as the quality of the food.

"The food is too watery! I need more beef!"

She made to rush to the fridge again, and then stopped dead, her eyes dilating and shining with horror. Moaning, she buried her face in her hands, breathing and heart rate steadily climbing, becoming erratic.

"I am out," she whispered, "I forgot that was the last pound of meat I had, and Ivan will be home soon. The food is too watery, oh, what do I do, Vodka, the food is too milky! I will add more spice," she said decisively, turning back to the stove and scooping up a pepper shaker. But before she could add it, she frowned, dropped it back. "But what I need is meat, for substance. I will pour some soup out—I will add more spice, more vegetables and no one need ever know—and boil it nice and hot."

She bent again to peer anxiously at the oven. "Oh, I wish the bread would hurry up and rise all the way. I need it to cool before everyone comes back."

Katyusha started throwing a hodge-podge of spices into the pot.

"Natalya likes her food very spicy," she muttered excitedly. "I remember now. Ivan likes dumplings very much, so I scoop up many and give them to him. My little brother and sister are happy this way. My little sister—"

She turned to look at the table, where one extra place setting waited. Eyes clouding over with tears, she trudged to the kitchen table and sank down at her chair. Vodka hastily made his way over and leapt into her lap. The corners of Katyusha's mouth twitched, her bloodshot eyes shining with a sort of amused, self-deprecating sadness.

"Natalya's not here….I keep forgetting. Am I a fool, Vodka?" she asked, scratching the cat under the chin, feeling the cat headbutt her hand. "I suppose I am…..nowadays, almost believe it when Ivan insists that she lives with us, that she goes to St. Sebastian's and simply isn't home very often. I wish that were the truth. My God, how I wish that were the truth!"

Vodka mewed worriedly as Katyusha's frame shook with sobs, and the girl wept, hiding her face in her calloused hands. "Oh, God, Ivan, Natalya, I am sorry, so sorry, so sorry. Is all my fault, I know, but I _didn't_ know—"

She never anticipated Stepfather would have gone so far as to do what he did to Ivan. As much as Katyusha had forgiven the man's abysmal failures—and even she could now call them that—she would never, ever pardon him for what he'd done to her poor little brother. And Natalya…all the sad little girl must have wanted was for someone to care, had found that in Ivan, had become so _dangerous_ as a result—

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, out, in, out, in, out—

_Out—_

_Out—_

_Out—_

God, what came next? _Something _alleviated the burn, some following action was meant to be there, but she panicked like a player who has forgotten their lines on stage, near hyperventilation. What did she do? Her lungs were beginning to burn.

~*oOo*~

_It was late. Katyusha had dinner waiting on the table when the man had come back in, covered with snow, his clothes torn. She greeted him quietly, not daring to make eye contact. Thankfully, the man had ignored her as he trudged to his chair, where dinner was waiting. Tiny Natalya was staring at the floor near her place, hands behind her back. As a rule, none of the children in this tiny house sat down to eat unless given permission to do so—enough lashings had taught them all that much. _

_Though, in all fairness, there were few ways one could escape a lashing in this place, where hell was a place called home. _

_But now, it was dinnertime and Ivan was still not among them. Katyusha kept her eyes to the floor, eyes free of the hot dread beginning to make her heart race. Where was Ivan? He had been outside earlier that afternoon, as he was rarely found in the house unless it was bitterly cold out, but he knew enough to come when Katyusha called, when HE called. No one had been whipped or punished for a beautiful four days now, and it looked as if that were to all come crashing down! _

_"Stepfather?" she asked timidly as she finished spooning most of the contents of the pot onto the man's plate. "Do you know where Ivan is? I called, but I don't believe he heard me."_

_The man had taken one bite of his supper, and abruptly spat it out, as if it were arsenic. _

_"Natalya, you may sit," the man had growled as he rose to his feet. "Anyone and everyone who would want to eat this shit you try to feed me is welcome to it! How dare you? You think to laugh at me, you little whore?" _

_He seized the terrified young girl's hair and tugged her to him, lifting her up so that only her toes brushed against the floor. Eyes watering with pain, Katyusha cried out as her stepfather swung her bodily against the wall. She bit her tongue so hard she tasted blood, shakily raised her hands to protect her throbbing head, but the man clamored after her again with a roar, grasping her hands and tugging them away, forcing her to look at him, flecks of spittle hitting her face. _

_"Little cock-sucking slut, I'll kill you!" he cried, pinching the crying girl's cheeks. "Dirty, ugly, useless little whore you are, someone ought to split your head open! You're lucky I'm apparently as retarded as you, to want a little pig-whore like yourself! Say it!" He shook her, slapped her when she started to whimper. "Say it, you little bitch, or I'll beat you! You cow-raping, ugly shit, you're a whore! An ugly whore! Say it!" _

_"Stepfather!" The girl shrieked as the man mimicked her, voice pompous and baby-mocking. _

**_"Stepfather!" _**

_Katyusha started to wail, and all the while the little girl just ate her meal at the table, paying no mind to the spectacle going on. _

_"Natalya, Natalya, dear, dear little sister—help me!" _

_But Natalya did nothing. She didn't even look as Stepfather's hands clamped themselves over Katyusha's chest, and despair stole into her heart like a black snake. Her Stepfather shook her again. _

_"As for where your brother is, that's _your_ concern, you little brat, or at least_ was _your concern," he murmured hotly into her ears, a truly terrible smile appearing on his face. "Want to see what happens to naughty, ugly, horse-fucking bitches like yourself who can't do as they're told? I think you and Natalya need a little trip outside. I have a special surprise prepared for the two of you." _

_Now Natalya looked up, her cold eyes narrowing with suspicion and what looked like alarm. Katyusha's eyes widened in terror. _

_"You—you don't mean you—" _

_The door flew open, and a soaked Ivan staggered in, as pale as the dead, his clothes and scarf splattered with red and brown. Stepfather's head swiveled up, and the man screamed, dropping Katyusha as Ivan slowly limped in, eyes burning hollows. _

_"Nyet!" Stepfather cried. "No!" _

_He staggered back against his chair, knocking it over and tripping over it. He slammed against the ground with a pained grunt, and Natalya rushed out of her chair to a nearby corner. With some difficulty, a swaying Katyusha hurried to join her sister as Ivan swung out a pipe behind his back, all stained red and dripping. She recognized the spigot as the old one in the backyard, the one that didn't work anymore. _

_Stepfather shrieked. He wasn't the only one who did. _

_"I buried you." He cried, holding out his hands and cowering up like an oversized baby, every faucet of his face outlined in horror. "I left you!"_

_Katyusha clamped a hand over her mouth. Next to her, she could feel Natalya shaking, though judging by her expression, she looked more infuriated than frightened. _

_Ivan just gazed at the man, the whites of his eyes so large it looked like the quivering violet balls were about to be swallowed up in his mad mask. _

_"For dead" Was all her brother said before he raised the instrument, and swung it down the way a judge will a gavel. _

_The screaming went on long into the night. _

~*oOo*~

She'd left the burner on high and now the food was boiling, bubbling over and trickling down the sides of the pot. With a shriek, Katyusha lurched to the stove, nearly tripping over Vodka. Beginning to tear up again, she immediately took the pot off the burner, peering in to see if the food was still salvageable. But it was burned.

"Vodka, it's no good, no good, no good," she cried out, the pot sliding from her useless fingers and clattering to the ground. Vodka ran from the hot avalanche with an alarmed yowl, and the young Russian woman just stared at it in dismay, tears running down her face.

Pigswill. She slowly stooped to the steaming food all over the floor, briefly considered throwing her hands in it, gripping for dear life even as she swelled up and blistered.

If he saw that she had already punished herself, perhaps he would not be so terrible. She deserved it, but he terrified her.

_"Are you kidding? You cook like an angel!" _

Katyusha's teary eyes dilated, her hands inches away from the hot, ruined food. Retreating to a quiet, more rational corner of her broken mind, she slowly sank again to her knees away from the hot mess that had spilled on the floor, and closed her eyes. She almost smiled.

Stepfather was right. She _was_ a dirty bitch. A dirty, ugly, cowardly bitch who was so pathetic that she recanted a single, undeserved compliment over and over again in their heads. Proud. Smug. Dirty, brainless whore.

But if she was so low, then it really wouldn't hurt to replay the memory in her head again, would it?

_"Katyusha, I'm serious," Matthew said enthusiastically, digging into his food. "I never thought I'd like Russian food, especially after that one time it made me sick as a kid…but this is really wonderful! Is it really your own recipe?"_

_She hadn't known where to look; she knew she ought to correct him, because she certainly wasn't good at cooking, was hardly good for anything, but the words made her stomach flutter, warmth pooling into every nook and crevice of her body, settling in like Vodka when he curled up on her lap. It felt foreign and scary and good all at once. "I, well, it's really not that….it is a family recipe, but I added bits and pieces to it over time…"_

_"It's amazing!" Matthew had insisted gently, taking another bite of the pirozhki. "Katyusha, believe me, I'm not trying to butter you up—this is something you ought to pursue professionally." His eyes had sparkled with shy, secret laughter as Katyusha fidgeted in her seat, blushing madly and stuttering. "Thank you so much for the dish. I really hope you don't mind me and Al dropping in like this."_

_"Oh, of course not, of course not!" Katyusha exclaimed hastily. If there was a way she could keep them both from leaving, she would. _

_The two peered around the kitchen table to get a look at the living room, where Ivan and Alfred were sitting playing some bizarre game that involved chess pieces, checker pieces, scrabble letters, battleship pieces, and monopoly blocks—Katyusha had bought a great deal of games from yard sales, but none of them had all the game pieces. Franklin and Vodka were curled up next to them in a cozy little ball. "Iv, I think you're just lettin' me win again."_

_"Why would you ever think that, Alfredka?" _

_"Because I just sunk your scrabbleship for the third time, or however the heck this is working. Um, is that your King or mine?" _

_"I think it changed because he has more poker chips on Madison Avenue, or something." _

_Alfred huffed and fell back on the floor. "Dude, this is as pointless and as infuriating as an Adam Sandlers' movie. Wanna play poker?" _

_"Strip poker?" Ivan asked playfully. _

_"What?" _

_"Kidding, Alfredka." _

_Face flaming, Katyusha turned to apologize to Matthew, only to find to her astonishment that he was shaking with silent laughter. It was infectious, and soon she found a smile blooming across her face, a genuine one. _

_"Will you two be staying for dinner?" she asked. Now it was Matthew's turn to blush. _

_"Oh, well, we've imposed enough on you as is—we'll be going soon—" _

_"Oh, it is no trouble! Unless your parents have plans already…?"_

_"Well, uh, they're actually going out on a date tonight," He confessed, the tips of his ears turning pink, which Katyusha found oddly endearing. "So, no plans other than to heat up leftovers or something—"_

_"Oh, Ivan and I would be delighted to have you, please stay!" Katyusha chirped, and a second later felt the all-too familiar burn of shame. Just what sort of desperate, foolish woman did she appear to be, anyhow? "I—I am sorry. I do not want to make you feel guilty, I just—it would be lovely if you stayed, and I'm sorry if I am being an ungracious hostess—"_

_Matthew's hand wandered over the table and squeezed hers, smiling timidly. Katyusha didn't know where to look, her hand nearly snatching its way free out of his loose and friendly hold out of shock. "Katyusha, really, you're very kind. Al and I'd be glad to stay for dinner, if it's not an inconvenience." _

_"T-thank you." So warm, so warm, the kitchen was so warm! "I will have to go out and buy some more groceries today, then….maybe you should join boys in living room…."_

_"I'll go with you!" Matthew eagerly volunteered, finishing up his meal and grabbing his coat hanging over his chair. _

_"Oh, you don't….I mean, I'd, um, ah—" _

_"Al, Iv, Kat and I are heading out," Matthew had called out, before his face went bright red. "U-um! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to just call you that, I don't know if you like it, sorry, sorry—" _

_"Kay!" Alfred called out, his voice playfully sly. "Don't have too much fun out there you two, if ya get my drift!" _

_The young woman just smiled at the stammering red mess next to her, her eyes shining. "Kat is fine." _

~*oOo*~

They'd gotten groceries together. Even picking produce with him had been enjoyable. And….

Her eyes wandered to the vase of sunflowers sitting on the table, and she let out a small cough, torn between remarkable embarrassment and great pleasure. She didn't want to come out of this high back into reality. But she knew she must.

It was _just_ an untrue compliment and some flowers, given to her by a boy several years her junior, still underage. Even if he WERE interested….no. She was filthy, she was presumptuous, and she was such an asinine, selfish, evil whore. Katyusha clutched at her white hair and let out a sad keening sound.

Dear Matthew. Dearest Matthew with such a kind smile for her. No, not for her, but she could pretend, at least. It wasn't as if she could possibly sink any lower than the grime she already was.

_"You cook like an angel." _And there were other things, too. That time on the bus, when they'd had to sit so closely together, he had bashfully noticed aloud the fact that she smelled like roses, complimented her careful hands when they chopped up onions together, uncertainly wiped a tear from her eye when both their eyes had begun to sting, caught her singing that one time they'd ran into each other at the library, called her voice _pretty_….

_Matthew._ Perhaps one day, he would come back. And when he did, Katyusha would fix the greatest meal of her life, work even harder than she did when living under the tyranny of her stepfather, when a poor meal or a sour mood could mean her being dragged out to the barn, her clothes being torn off her body, and—

No. No. No. No. That was all gone now. She wanted happy things in her life. Only happy things. Life was too sacred to make room for sorrow. Even for an ugly sow like herself. Someone had been kind enough to compliment her, to visit her—that was what she should be dwelling on, even if she knew she ought not to get carried away.

Her eyes wandered to the mess on the floor and Katyusha let out a long sigh before she dragged herself up to get a mop.

Perhaps tonight she would just order a pizza. She was awfully tired.

~*oOo*~

_Every heart he cut out with the safety scissors seemed to be bleeding in his hands. Like Stepfather's heart, like Fyodor's heart. Boris ought to be pleased he got to keep his, even if the heart would likely never again see the light of day. _

_Ivan dropped the red construction and the dull plastic scissors with a dark scowl. Useless things—these scissors couldn't possibly cut through a stick of butter. What else could he expect from a place where items deemed as "sharps"—pencils included—were forbidden to the "patients?" _

_Somewhere next to him, someone was babbling, muttering inadvertently to himself._

_He moodily picked up a gluestick and started to carefully run the sticky substance around the edges of one of the red hearts. Ivan supposed he ought to be "grateful" that he even got to participate in this ridiculous craft at all, though he'd much rather be painting. He'd had another dream about his Sunflower Saint last night, and he longed to at least sketch it out before the image faded in its glory from behind Ivan's eyes. _

_He cut out another bleeding heart, to be edged with lace for Katyusha. Wondered whether or not he ought to send the second one to Natalya—it might only encourage her delusions that the two could actually wind up together. Stupid girl. Ivan had always been immaculate with his work until the most unlikely of circumstances wound up leading a bloody trail back to him through the snow. But while Natalya was cunning, she also yearned for credit. A shame that she'd killed that nice Lithuanian boy—Ivan had thought perhaps that the two could be good friends—but the boy's companionship with him and his feelings for her had been his undoing._

_And now Natalya shared her brother's fate, only she had no hope of freedom even if she were by some miracle "cured" of her longing for Ivan. _

_He shivered as he finished Katyusha's valentine, picked up a broken crayon and absentmindedly began to draw a sunflower on the second heart he'd more or less torn free._

~*oOo*~

It had taken Ismael a long time to fall asleep. Not only had the meds he had taken failed to kick in when he needed them to, but it was almost impossible to lie down without _some_ annoying discomfort. Mama had been hysterical about the whole thing, kept rubbing her son in stinging, homemade remedies (many of which involved vinegar, to his horror) while Papa had just mainly looked disappointed that he didn't pay back his attacker twice as bad.

But he would. Even if Ivan was scary as all hell, he would knock the living daylights out of the cocky, self-important attention slut Alfred. Matthew could get as pissed with him as he wanted—SOMEONE had to teach Jones a lesson, and when he got a little better, he would shatter the jerkhole's jaw.

Ivan probably wouldn't let that go unpunished. Well screw the fucking freak, too. Even if Ismael wound up hurting twice as bad as he did now (and the Cuban did not like to think that were possible), he would just deal with it, bask in the sweetness of knowing Alfred finally got his just desserts, even if Ismael himself were in traction.

Mumbling murderously to himself, he had awkwardly tucked himself under the covers earlier that evening, hissing with pain as they brushed against his aching muscles, the many lumps and bruises, the bandaged cuts. To his disgust, he could still see the bruising imprint of Ivan's fingers at his wrists when the Russian had held him fast and beat the living shit out of him.

When he'd finally made himself sort-of, acceptably comfortable, he realized he'd forgotten to turn the light off.

After some more stumbling (and no small amount of cussing), he stared out into the darkness with his non-blacked eye, almost able to make out the many soccer posters that littered his walls. Shifting unhappily on his small bed, the pain medication at last took its effect, and Ismael fell into a stupor, snoring.

But later that night, Ismael stirred to find an awful throbbing coming from his already injured wrists—they brushed against something cold. Frowning, still in the throes of sleep, he made to pull them back to his sides, but they resisted; something _clanked._

Ismael froze in the pitch blackness, bewildered, beginning to come out of his half-awake, half-asleep blur. Not breathing, he tried again, but something very solid and very metal kept his arms at bay, kept his hands awkwardly posed above his head. Alarmed, he stiffly made to move so that he could see what was going on, but his ankles caught, resisting his attempts to pull them free. More clinking sounds, as if the Cuban had become Jacob Fucking Marley.

_The hell….? _

He wiggled like a worm, cringing when his injuries groaned in protest, but he kept moving, feeling around in the darkness, trying to figure out what was holding him. His fingertips ghosted over something that felt like a chain, his wrists and ankles felt as if they were being held fast by…by _fucking manacles_ of some kind…..

His breathing escalated to a bewildered, panicked panting, and he tried to roll out of bed, only to fail miserably. His little hermana was at a slumber party tonight, so she obviously wasn't trying to pull a fast one on him—

Ismael quickly drew breath to scream for help, but out of nowhere, a fist abruptly struck him upside the face, making the astounded Cuban see stars before he fell back against the bed with a gasp of pain. Something hurriedly plastered itself over his mouth, and Ismael blindly kicked out like a tethered bull, hands desperately trying to fly to his face so that he could rip the suffocating material _off—_

Someone gently shushed him, clicking their tongues in mock disapproval before cruel fingers dug into his hair and dragged the thrashing boy upwards, ignoring his squeals and grunts of pain. They held him there for a moment, and then hot breath ghosted against the astounded Cuban's ear, whispering sweetly:

"You and I need to have a little chat, **Yблюдок**."

~*oOo*~

Ismael startled so badly he let out a shout, or at least as good a shout he could make with his mouth virtually glued shut. The hand released him, and the Cuban fell back against the sheets, his injured body sticking to them as a cold sweat broke over his body.

A lantern lit up beside his bed, and Ismael found himself looking up into the Russian's face, his expression twisted in a childlike smile, soft and serene.

Akin to a child's whilst he watched ants burning up. In the dim light, Ivan had a cartoonish, piano-like sort of smile, one that looked too large and gaunt for his mad face, his teeth looking mismatched and ghoulish in the eerie light, as if they were comprised of broken glass.

Ismael's eyes bulged out of their sockets and his violent thrashing for freedom continued, the bed frame knocking against the wall as he tried to rip his way free of the chains he could now very easily see holding him fast to all four corners of the bed.

If the situation hadn't been so bizarre, or sick, Ismael might have laughed. Ivan certainly looked like he were about to as he bent his head back down to the Cuban's ear, and murmured softly:

"I'm going to take the tape off now," he said mildly, tapping the heavy-duty padding over Ismael's mouth. "If you say a word, I will go to your parents' room." The smile grew into something even larger, more twisted, distorting Ivan's face so badly he no longer looked like a child, but a vicious, demented maniac in excruciating pain. "And I will make you watch as I twist your mother's neck, hold you fast as I drown your father's head in the toilet."

From behind his back he drew out a pipe, pressing the cool metal against Ismael's bare chest. The Cuban tried desperately hard not to shake, but his body betrayed him, trembling as if a million bolts were throbbing through his frame.

Ivan prodded the pipe against a bruise, making the Cuban grunt with pain under the tape. "Do you understand? One word, one scream, and I will kill you all."

_What, with a pipe? My Dad can pack some heat, you son of a bitch. _

But Ismael reluctantly nodded, brow visibly gleaming, eyes dark brown pools of panic. Looking pleased, Ivan lightly took hold of one end of the tape and promptly ripped it off Ismael's face. Ismael nearly let out a howl of pain, but Ivan simply clapped a hand over his mouth, despite the other's attempts to draw his head away, to bite the hand. He managed to sink his teeth into flesh, tasted blood. Ivan did not make so much as a sound, but he did abruptly swing his elbow into Ismael's eye, forcing him to let go.

"The_ fuck _you doing in my house?" Ismael wheezed when Ivan let his hand drop, pulling on his chains again, not caring that Ivan jabbed him in his still injured side. "And what the hell'd you do to me? _Caramba,_ you really are insane! Get these damn things off me and I'll show what you real pain is! You got no right to go around threatening mi Papi or Mama!"

"Oh, but I think I do. And," Ivan added, drawing a knife out of his pocket, flicking it open and pressing it against Ismael's pounding heart, "If you don't keep voice down, I'll be happy to show you that I make good on my threats."

All the vigor drained out of Ismael's face. He blinked away tears.

"The hell? They didn't do nothin' to you," the stockier of the two stammered, teeth chattering as Ivan rubbed the cool faucet against the underside of his chin; a caress. "They aren't guilty of nothin', man! Leave 'em alone! Hell, leave ME alone! Get outta my house!"

"Oh, but I believe they _are_ guilty, guilty just as you are, sniveling wretch. They brought scum like you into the world." The monster's eyes flashed in the dark. "As for your little sister, I believe she is at slumber party tonight, da? Very lucky. I promise I won't lay a scratch on her, however. Why should she suffer for your sins?"

"You're a fucking lunatic," Ismael gasped. "You. You and Jones. Great, bullying, bossy, _crazies._ Someone shoulda thrown you both in the loony house a long time ago. Fight me like a man, you son of a whore."

Ivan smiled at him. Then he seized the duct tape again, tore a piece off and slammed it over Ismael's mouth, despite the young man's desperate attempts to avoid it or tongue it off. "Mmmphhh! Mmmph! Mmmpphhhhh!"

And then, in a flash of silver, Ivan impaled the sharp end of his pipe directly through Ismael's hand, pinning it against the wall.

The scream Ismael let out through the tape was so loud that Ivan covered his face with a pillow as the shorter man writhed and struggled, bleeding hand flailing as blood continued to ooze down the wall in liberal amounts. Ivan wrenched it out after a moment or so, and Ismael cradled the bloody wreck against his neck, chest heaving with searing screeches and silent sobs as tears trickled down his face.

"Shhh," Ivan soothed, ripping the tape off Ismael's face, the Cuban biting his lip with every ounce of energy he had to keep himself from crying out. "Never fear, squirming little toad. I will not saw you in half. There is no time for that. But you will apologize," he added, childlike pretense abruptly pooling out of his cold, cold voice. "Apologize for your heresy."

Bewildered, nearly delirious, Ismael stared up at the nightmare with swollen eyes, nearly senseless with terror and pain. "The…the hell you talkin' about….f-fucking psycho—"

**"QUIET!"** Ivan roared, and Ismael recoiled. Howling in rage, Ivan brought the pipe flying down over the Cuban's face, and Ismael only just rolled out of the way in time for the metal to sink into a pillow instead of flesh. The Russian ripped at the fabric before tearing the weapon out, and feathers spilled out all over Ismael's body, hot blood dripping on them from the terrible wound on his torn hand.

Ivan's shoulders rose and fell rapidly, trembling pipe poised to plunge into the horrified teenager's body, still red with his blood. "**_Quiet, quiet, quiet, QUIET_!** You sniveling little beast, **_Выродок_**, **Ёб твою мать!" ****He seized Ismael by the chin and shook him, pressing into his cheekbones with his thumb and forefingers with crushing force, as if determined to squeeze the tears out of him before bursting his face like a smashed orange.**

"_How dare you_, how** dare **you pretend not to know what I'm talking about when you **KNOW**," he fumed, "**_You KNOW you insulted my innocent, called him a LIAR! My innocent, MINE, you evil fuck, vile brat, my innocence!_** As if that weren't enough, you _hurt _him," he snarled, teeth bared. "Broke what was his, _mine_. **And I'll break _you _for it**!"

Ivan suddenly tensed; he seemed to at last realize how loud he was being. And a sleepy voice from downstairs suddenly called out: "Ismael? For God's sake, keep it down already! It's past eleven!"

The Russian's pipe flew back to Ismael's stomach in warning, and the agonizing Cuban had an awful mental flashback of the frog he'd dissected in biology last year.

"One word, and I'll gut her like a fish. I will grab her by the hair and skin her alive."

Ismael was gone; the proud, arrogant teen was replaced by a stranger, one whose main identity constituted horror, horror and the agony at his torn palm and shattered bone; hot blood and ripped skin and fat and pain, pain, throbbing, bleeding, pain so bad it was almost as bad as the _fear—_

_"S-Si, Mama_," he croaked out, trying to keep the sobs ripping at his chest out of his voice.

With some difficulty, he turned to look at the hideous face above him, trembling. Ivan stared at him, violet eyes cooling into indifferent amusement as Ivan lay back against his soaked sheets and _prayed_ Ivan would not kill him then and there.

"I wonder if I ought to give my sweet angel your heart as a present," he commented idly, pulling a vial out of his pocket and turning it over carelessly in his hands. "A gruesome valentine, to be sure, but my dear Alfred deserves some retribution for the wrongs you caused him." Ivan's icy eyes narrowed into slits, and Ismael's eyes nearly popped out of his head. He had to keep the lunatic talking. Distract him from the murderous craving he could see pulsing in those terrible, predator eyes.

"It was _you_," he gasped, bleeding hand still twitching like mad. "Yer the one…who's been leavin' Jones messages. _You're da one after him_."

He had to break free. Save his family. Save his fucking self somehow. Then, he had to get the police, because while Alfred F. Jones deserved a lot of things in Ismael's book, one of those things was certainly _not_ in the hands of an absolutely unhinged sociopath, where he'd end up six feet underground.

Ivan did not react beyond the lifting of an eyebrow. "I would love to respond…how is it my love quaintly responds when someone tells him the obvious?" the Russian asked dryly, tucking his pipe under his arm as he unscrewed the lid of his little bottle and peered inside curiously. "'Well, duh,' I believe it is? But I do not need to pursue my dearest little rabbit," he added, unhinged face betraying a hint of softness. "He is already mine, whether he knows it yet or not."

Ismael forced himself to swallow around the fright gripping at his throat. Had to stall for time. Had to survive. Time to kiss up.

"I'm sorry," he croaked, wincing as blood dripped into his eyes. "I'm sorry, okay? Sorry I insulted yer….angel." He almost let out a hysterical snort of laughter himself at the term. _Jones, an angel?_

Ivan looked at him.

And promptly splashed some of the liquid from the little bottle onto Ismael's bare chest, which sizzled immediately upon contact, and Ivan cheerfully grabbed a pillow and planted it over Ismael's weeping face until the hysteric sobs quieted. "I am glad my sister works at hospital…is so funny that we have this acid in our stomachs," he remarked as he threw the pillow aside, and the Cuban whined helplessly as he tried to blow on the large burns that felt as if they were _nibbling_ his way through his body like so many termites with razor sharp teeth.

"You do not seem sorry," Ivan said dryly, lowering the bottle. "Well, you are very sorry to see me here, that is so. As you should be. Would you like to hear a story, little toad? Actually, it does not matter if you do or not," he added cheerfully. "Because if you make a sound….well, actions speak louder than words." He drew up a chair, pulled out a small notebook from his nearby bag, and began to doodle as Ismael shook with hurt, his eyes rolling madly around in his head from the splitting pain everywhere. "Ah…I wish I could see better. But no matter."

He hummed contently. "This story does not have very happy beginning. But glorious ending, like all good stories do.

"Once upon a time, there was a pretty young woman who gave birth to three children," he commented, as Ismael fought back the torrent of swear words he longed to hurl at the crazy man."One destined for madness and hopeless love, another for misfortune and destitution, and another….for a saint." Ivan carefully brushed away some excess pencil dust away from his drawing, smiling brightly. "A radiant, blue-eyed prince of sunflowers. This prince gave hope to the hopeless and rekindled life into something dazzling, something _enjoyable_." In all irony, Ivan's smile started to fade away with his words.

"The prince had a servant who loved him desperately, more than anyone or anything else in the world, even his own flesh and blood. The servant saw the great purity in Alfred's heart long, long ago, and by destiny was reunited with the jewel-like little bird. And the servant swore that the prince's purity never be compromised by the many jealous and wicked evils stalking him." A tear raced down Ivan's face.

"Sadly, there are people like you who do not much like my sunflower. This makes me unhappy, because those who do not like flowers tend to step on them. And that, as flower's caretaker, makes me very unhappy." Much to Ismael's alarm, an angry grimace began to deepen over Ivan's face. "Jealous, filthy pigs, all deserve to have their throats slit and their mouths stuffed full with rodents. But even that is too good for them, because my sunflower is the epitome of goodness. Why else would he take pity on me, a lost boy three times? And, what else he has done for me…to have someone who will hug you, cheer for you, ask after you and fight for you…someone to watch for you and to care and to notice and to _touch you_…." Another tear streamed down his face. "How can I not love him? My living darling! For him, I killed Arthur Kirkland."

_"No."_ The word came out as an astonished, dismayed gasp. A terrible smirk appeared on Ivan's face.

"Da," he said lightly, lowering his sketchbook. And I took no small pleasure out of it. He has quite a high voice, don't you think so, Ismael? Or at least had," he added thoughtfully, and Ismael nearly fainted. "You see, I broke the squirming hyena's leg, retribution for what hurt he'd caused my sunlight. Then I broke another arm, and then another, and then his other leg, and then I nailed him to the wall and worked on my target practice." Ivan chuckled with mirth. "Turned out, I was a little out of shape…I had to throw many, many knives, but that was because it so fun to watch him cry as they _almost_ hit him." Ivan held his thumb and index finger very closely together, still basking in Ismael's repulsion and overwhelming fear.

"Only a few sank in…non-vital areas, of course, sunk in deep enough to cause him mortal agony, though. Then, I had a change of heart and told him I was letting him go. I detached him from wall, pulled knives out and carried him to car. I told him to wait—we would be going to a hospital soon."

If Ismael screamed now, Mama and Papa would only be able to hear a muffled shouting—they might come to investigate, but Papa probably wouldn't think to bring his gun….

"Fetched my pipe. Dragged him out. Beat him until he at last lay still. Have you ever heard the sound of a human skull cracking under metal, Ismael?"

"P-please," Ismael begged tearfully. "No…"

"Oh, come now," Ivan said impatiently, looked annoyed. "I am not going to do that to you." He fondly considered the vial in his hands and Ismael started to cry, forcing himself to stop when Ivan threateningly raised the pipe again. "I meant to be much kinder to Mr. Yao, though—only beheading. But he screamed and cried, just as Arthur screamed and cried, so to make him feel better I tied his arms together with Hello Kitty sheets and the Hello Kitty jumprope. I thought of maybe burning his face off with the Hello Kitty barbeque, but I saved that for someone else. Then, I beheaded Mr. Yao with the Hello Kitty axe," he added blandly. "Kitty got quite a bit of blood on her face…I must admit, the pink and daisy-covered weapon was good touch…."

Ivan checked his watch and sighed before getting to his feet.

"I normally put good thought into what I do for company," he said somewhat ruefully as he put away his sketchpad and slung his pack over an arm. "So sorry that is not case tonight. I know, is very rude of me…." He said sympathetically, patting a stricken Ismael on the arm, not caring that the boy desperately scooted away from his touch. "I have been…what is word for it? Ah, da. _Agitated_, lately." A bark of laughter. "There is one who thinks they can take my flower away from me, and yet I cannot touch them. I cannot make my sunflower sad, else its petals will brown and wilt and I will not survive that. But there are ways," he said merrily, his purple eyes lighting up like a child rescued from gravest disappointment. "Other ways of getting rid of an annoyance. You should be proud to know that you are going to help me dispose of a wicked thief who has stolen into my garden."

The Russian picked up his lantern, starting to mutter under his breath. "Rotten, conniving, scheming fuck, Alfred is my little candle, my hope, I will protect him and run Kiku through a meat grinder, piece by piece…"

"But what I do to you," the Russian sang, "Is read you a poem."

Momentarily distracted from the piercing knife-stabs of discomfort radiating everywhere throughout his body, Ismael gawked at him. Ivan sent him a winning beam, playfully poked the disgusted Cuban in the cheek, and recited:

_"My mother told me long ago  
When I was a little tad  
That when the night went wailing so,  
Somebody had been bad;  
And then, when I was snug in bed,  
Whither I had been sent,  
With the blankets pulled up round my head,  
I'd think of what my mother'd said,  
And wonder what boy she meant!  
And "Who's been bad to-day?"  
I'd ask Of the wind that hoarsely blew;  
And the voice would say in its meaningful way:  
"Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo!"_

"I told that poem to Arthur, actually," Ivan said apologetically. "It just so happens to be mutually beneficial for both situations, though I beg you forgive my unoriginality." Ivan exhaled and glanced at his watch again. "Katyusha will be waiting…I suppose I should wrap this up."

"Wait," Ismael faltered again, desperate to keep Ivan talking, his eyes fixed on the glass of hydrochloric acid he still held. "Al doesn't know you're doing this? Ya think Jones is really gonna be okay with you _mauling people_?"

Ivan considered him, gentle smile on his face.

"One day, I will tell all to my Alfred," he said quietly. "And make him understand how I yearn for him. He will be mine," "He will be mine and no one will touch my sunflower again, no one will tend to him but myself and myself alone—I will see to it that he needs for nothing. It is my right to take him—he is what was promised to me. My salvation. He is everything I cannot be, all that I desire in life. It's not enough to simply have him….I want him one with my flesh," Ivan mused, and Ismael let out a strangled hissing noise.

"But I will settle for having my adorable little bird in my talons. Anyhow…" He approached Ismael, putting the glass beaker on the nightstand whilst reaching for his roll of duct tape. Recognizing that his time had at last ran out, Ismael made an attempt to roar, but Ivan quickly silenced him once again before seizing the beaker and—

Lowered it. Ismael cowered, waiting for the whiplash of pain that did not come.

"I was going to blind you," the Russian murmured. "But I think this will suffice."

And with that, Ivan made to turn around and leave. On his way to the door he came to a stop, slowly turned around, and Ismael winced. There was that awful not-smile again, the grimace.

"Earlier tonight, you told me to 'fight like a man,'" Ivan tittered. "Said the boy! Tee hee! Oh, Ismael, you were always good for a joke. Shame you had to hurt my little one, else…." He shook his head, a mockery of regret. "You might have seen graduation."

"Up in flames in jealousy," the Russian murmured as Ismael writhed like a trapped insect tethered in a web, tried to tear the tape off. "Consuming you and everyone around you. Da, I think it will be suitable for you to die as you lived. Goodbye, Ismael. You will not be missed."

And with that, he left.

Stricken, Ismael lay against the sheets and waited for a sound, a shriek from Mami, an angry demand from Papa—but nothing. The seconds crawled by, and Ivan's quiet footsteps faded away to nothing. After awhile, he thought he heard the front door shut. Was it safe to start making as much noise as he could, alert his parents that there'd been an intruder, that someone had just fucking _stabbed him_?

But before he make good on his plan, waves of something distinctly _familiar _began to waft into his nostrils, and he leaned his head up to sniff the air, still incapacitated.

Bafflement returned to the searing chill of terror.

_Is that….**gasoline**?!_

~*oOo*~

The snow glittered like a sea of diamonds underneath the stars. Ivan slowly walked down the street, hands deep in his pockets to protect them from cold. He fingered the now-folded Swiss Army Knife in his pocket, pleased that he hadn't damaged the blade whilst breaking into the house. He'd much rather spend the money on getting Alfred a new pair of glasses or a nice bouquet of sunflowers rather than go through the trouble of getting another knife. This was a small town and he'd really rather not have to drive all the way to the city to find one with good quality.

He noticed that his clothes now smelled like rust and gas. Ivan would have to take a good long soak in the tub and throw his clothes in the wash. Katyusha wouldn't notice, was so deliciously willing and able to swallow up his lies about where he'd been.

Though he supposed he_ technically _hadn't been lying tonight. He told his sister that he would be home late because he was be attending a bonfire. Ivan paused in his trek, and checked his watch.

The fuse on his homemade chemical bomb would take three minutes to burn to its end; with any luck, the bottle bombs he'd rigged up against the staircase would topple like dominoes according to plan, and then, the gasoline he'd poured all over the hallway, splattered on all the walls—

He checked his watch.

_Three…two….one…._

And the house behind him promptly exploded, and with it, everyone inside.

Silver glass shards burst out the windows as flames immediately _foompfed_! into life, so many skywards, massive gold and red tongues consuming the little house entirely, licking at the wood and brick as they raced for the midnight blue sky. Comparable to so many lions, the fire roared its triumph over the dwelling and its denizens, sparks hailing down to Earth like shooting stars.

Ivan admired the sight, inhaling the ashy air. _A masterpiece for you, my living sunflower_.

The neighbors would be out any second, and the fire department called. Given the fact that Ivan could still smell gasoline even from where he stood (although in all fairness, the scent could easily be coming from his clothes), they'd know it wasn't an accident.

He needed to get out of here. He made to rush down the street, where he could walk a block or so to his car under cover of darkness, but he stopped in his tracks, smiling faintly at his own stupidity. Oh. He almost forgot.

Ivan took the bag slung carelessly over his shoulder and threw it on the lawn of the burning house. That had been the parcel he'd obtained just that afternoon. He was happy he'd remembered it; picking the locker for the backpack had taken more time than Ivan had anticipated.

The backpack now contained one box of matches, one half-full container of gasoline. A lighter. Some rags.

It was marked with a name, first in Japanese characters, then in English. As alarmed people began to flood the streets, Ivan slowly turned and began to walk away from it all. One little boy wandered to the backpack and scooped it up, turning to gawk at the fiery inferno before looking back at the name on the bag:

_Kiku Honda. _

~*oOo*~

_Several weeks ago_

_His head ached, burned against the pillow he'd already turned over, his torso shivered, gooseflesh popping up everywhere on the hot flesh. Throat was bitterly sore, and his stomach rolled and felt ready to eject its contents, though Alfred hadn't been able to digest much more than a few soda crackers and some water in the past two days he'd been ill with the flu. _

_Suddenly, he'd heard something creaking, something like cloth fluttering, and a rush of cold air blew into the room. Still in a feverish stupor, Alfred wriggled under the blankets and held his churning stomach, longing to just fall asleep until this misery was over. _

_He imagined he felt the bed sink a little, and fancied someone touched the small of his back, rubbing it. But he was probably still dreaming. _

_The blankets lifted, and a pair of unseen icy hands planted themselves over his stomach, caressing the aching body. _

_"Shh," he imagined he heard someone breathe when his breath hitched, something velvety tickling his ear. "Don't be frightened, my love. I will make you better." _

_Something sharp pressed against Alfred's shoulder, and for a moment his eyes flew open, vision blurry without the aid of his glasses. Pale moonlight was streaming into the dark, bluish room, and Alfred tried to prop himself up on his elbows so that he could see what had just sticked him. But something forced him back against the bed, something rough and leathery pressing up against his forehead. A gentle shushing sound, as if someone were trying to calm a distressed infant. _

_"Sleep, little dove," the darkness said softly. "I'm not going anywhere. Sleep, my only."_

_A second needle was sliding into his arm, but the pain hardly registered anything in Alfred's sleep-deprived mind. With a sigh, his eyes flickered shut, and he gladly sank against something solid, something cool wrapping around his form and squeezing him tenderly. _

_When he woke up, fever evaporated and stomach only mildly queasy, he found a yellow sunflower sitting by his head, and the window wide open. _

~*oOo*~

* * *

Alfred didn't sleep well that night. He'd tried calling Elizabeta, but the girl refused to return his calls, and then he'd been at the mercy of his parents, who'd questioned him for what felt like hours. He'd almost broken down in tears by the time he climbed into bed, tiptoeing two or three times out of it to make sure it was firmly locked.

But his dreams were still unpleasant; he saw a dead sow lying dead on the ground, its chest ripped open. A little boy was hammering a heart to a door, humming as he did so, and people moaned and cried out from beneath the ground Alfred ran on, the nearly monochrome world flashing in and out of his eyes as some nameless terror pursued him, about to _eat _him—

And then he awoke to the sound of screams.

With a yell of alarm, Alfred tried to yank himself out from the blankets, but he was twisted into them so badly that he couldn't see, couldn't escape, ended up rolling over in the suffocating mass until he tumbled off the bed, hitting the floor headfirst with a loud THUD.

Swearing, Alfred worked on unwinding the sheets from his body, desperately kicking at them when he realized that the hysteric sobs weren't filtering in from his dreams, but were filtering in from the living room. Mattie was crying, crying rough, jagged sobs, as if he were terrified, or in worse pain then he'd been when that creep had punched out a few of his fucking teeth—

A prickling burn replaced Alfred's spine, and the young man hurtled out the door, nearly tripping over the sheets two or three times, grabbing one of his old baseball bats along the way. He raced down the stairs to the living room, where Matthew was lying huddled up in a small ball next to the television, hands covering his eyes as tears streamed down his face. Mrs. Jones was kneeling next to her son, squeezing his quivering form as Mr. Jones stared blankly at the TV, mute. Under the couch, Franklin was watching the proceedings with large eyes.

The bat slipped from Alfred's limp fingers, and he dropped to his brother's side. What had happened? His mind vaguely flashed to the 911 attacks that had happened when he and Mattie were just little kids, and Alfred's head flew in the direction of the TV, expecting the end of the world or the death of several small puppies and kittens.

Instead, all he got was a vaguely familiar building caught on fire.

"Mattie, Mom, Dad, what in the…?"

"It's Ismael," Mrs. Jones said faintly, and Matthew's sobbing grew wilder. "A huge blaze broke out at his home last night." Her voice was low with trouble. "Alfred, he's dead. His parents too."

All the feeling went out of Alfred's legs.

"This might sound awful, but the person I feel the worst for is that little girl," Mr. Jones said sadly, clapping his stunned son's shoulder and shaking it. "Imagine, going to a party and coming back to find your house, all of your things, your family….gone….wiped off the face of the earth…."

Wiped off the face of the Earth.

"Alfred?"

There was no question about it this time. He heard a strange jabbering sound in his ears, and he heard Matthew crying and felt his father asking him something-

"ALFRED!"

And the floor rushed up to meet him suddenly.

_~*oOo*~_

_Ivan couldn't remember the last time he'd been taken to a restaurant, nor could he ever before recall being told to get whatever he liked. The very thought would have been a laughable dream just hours ago, when he'd craved a mushy apple to soothe the pangs beating at his insides like stones. Now that it was actually happening, Ivan found the soreness of his injured arm almost to be a relief—every painful pulse he felt from it was a reminder that he was miraculously awake._

_The guilt he'd felt when thinking of poor Katyusha and Natalya was easier to overlook whenever he looked into Alfred's bright eyes (as well as whisked a few complimentary crackers off the table to store in his pockets for later). The little American boy sat next to him, occasionally babbling in his strange tongue in a fashion that had Ivan's attention, even if he couldn't understand. Mr. Jones sat across from the two of them, translating for the two of them._

_It was a bit strange, Ivan decided, like a game of telephone, but rather fun in its oddity. When Ivan shyly asked Mr. Jones to tell Alfred that Ivan liked his jacket, Mr. Jones translated in English and Alfred's eyes lit up, the little boy giggling as his legs swung back and forth in the booth. He'd said something himself, turned to his father and likely asked to pass on a message, and the man smiled broadly before telling Ivan in Russian that Alfred thought he was amazingly tough for not crying over his injury._

_When their food came, it was hard to say which was more intoxicating—the flow of conversation, jilted as it was, or the food itself._

_"Slow down, son!" Mr. Jones exclaimed when Ivan tore into his food with all the energy of a starving panther. "Gracious, Alfred, you too," he scolded as Alfred looked up from his burger, face splattered with ketchup and mustard. "You're going to both get stomach aches at this rate….oh, darn it all, I'm still talking in Russian, aren't I?" Mr. Jones dryly asked Ivan, beginning to laugh when his son just made the cuckoo sign._

_Choking down a mouthful of potatoes, Ivan had taken a good look at Alfred and_ laughed, _laughed merrily and genuinely for the first time in what felt like years_. Alfred didn't really understand what Ivan was laughing at but he'd drank it in and laughed that infectious, carrying laughter with Ivan instead of at.

After the two had had dessert, they'd walked hand-in-hand together to The Cathedral of Spilled Blood.

* * *

**Please consider this my late Halloween entry...although I guess this isn't very cute and fluffy. I have some ideas for cute and fluffy fictions, but I am definitely open for suggestions. Sorry to cut this chapter short-got my midterms coming up and I gots to study. *Makes face* I hope this chapter's name didn't ultimately wind up disappointing you. **

**Actually a cathedral, despite creepy name. Look it up; if I ever go to Russia, I would love to see it. The murals look astonishingly beautiful and would make Michelangelo jealous! I bet Russia's very proud of it. :) **

**Alfred's such a girl. And Kiku's in trouble. And I like pie. *Goes on epic quest to find some***

**Please, please review!**

**Next Chapter: Silver And Gold Will Be Stolen Away. **


	7. The Sunflower Messiah

_~o*oOo*o~_

_The cathedral was really more of a castle of sorts, with enormous towers covered with onion domes that looked like large, spiraling tops, or gigantic pieces of candy. Ivan liked the colors very much, for while faded with age, they were still snappy and cheerful, gleaming golds and rich emeralds and blues as deep and light as the summer sky, as blue as Alfred's eyes. Ivan gazed in awe at the colossal building, and Alfred must have forgotten that Ivan could understand nothing of his language, because he was babbling non-stop in what sounded like gibberish, lighting up whenever he noted some new detail on the beautiful building and turning to his new friend, poking him and jabbering excitedly. Beaming, Ivan simply nodded and pointed a lot, able to forget the pain of his bandaged hands until Alfred accidentally pulled on one as the three moved into line._

_Ivan hissed in pain and Mr. Jones stopped and stooped, his look of concern foreign and made the child suspicious and angry all over again, his bony shoulders tensing as Alfred's father started talking, alternating between gently speaking in Russian to Ivan and scolding his son in English. Biting his lip and kicking at the frozen pavement, Alfred reached for one of the Russian boy's forearms and squeezed, muttering apologetically, shamefaced. The look on Alfred's face was just enough to keep Ivan from racing off into the streets, though he knew he had to leave, and soon._

_The idea made his heart throb bitterly, and he stayed close by Alfred's side as Mr. Jones showed some guard a pass and the three were allowed to cut ahead of the line into the colossal old building._

_How nice it would have been, to convince Alfred to leave with him. How lovely it would have been to stick the child into his pocket like the candy Ivan occasionally stole from the drugstore a mile or so from his home. Yekaterina and Natalya were fine enough company, but Katyusha too sad, and Natalya…scary. The little girl claimed to love Ivan so much so that she wanted to marry him, yet he could not for the life of him remember the last time she had smiled, if indeed she ever smiled at all._

_Not that Ivan could blame her. He felt stupid and self-conscious, willing himself to look at Alfred rather than his muddy boots or ragged excuse for a coat. It was almost a shame the American was so nice, because Alfred was precisely the boy he would have loved to hate._

_His brow creased with some sadness as they stepped into the cathedral, the dry, nippy wind stifled by a warm, hallowed gloominess. Ivan shivered, eyes wandering from the dust particles drifting silently across sunbeams to the colossal space around him and stared. Alfred's jaw had dropped, a true testament to his wonder being that he had at last fallen silent._

_He'd expected some kind of satanic dungeon from a place bearing the name 'Spilled Blood.' This was heaven. It had to be; the tour group huddled together like timid field mice as the guide calmly began to speak—how could they be so disaffected?—about the building's origins, explaining that the church had been built under Alexander the III's instructions. Apparently it had been built the exact same place his father, Alexander the II, had been assassinated._

_If someone were to murder his stepfather, Ivan thought that he might like to build a circus over the spot the man died. He would invite everyone._

_As the tourist began patiently explaining the construction process, which both Ivan and Alfred found disinteresting, they wandered away to admire the walls, every bit of available space covered by mosaics. Religious ones, which Ivan supposed was fine only because they were so beautiful._

_But though the ceiling towered on to the sky and he made his neck stiff staring up at the stained glass windows meeting the sun's setting rays, his eyes very frequently wandered over to Alfred at his side, who had again found his tongue and was talking happily of some Disney film—Ivan could tell that much._

_Jealous. Ivan could be sick with jealousy, but what was that compared to the fondness he felt for the young boy chirping away in his ears? Alfred wouldn't come with him, wouldn't leave his nice father to stay with him. Ivan wouldn't. Unless he convinced Alfred somehow that it was an adventure and—but no, no, Stepfather would likely only tear the boy's throat out._

_And suddenly Ivan did not feel weak, did not feel like cowering under the insane man's abominable stare. No. If Alfred were in danger, it'd be different. He wouldn't stand for any more cruelty—anger would make him strong. He'd knock the heartless son of a shit clean off his feet, rush to Alfred's side and comfort him, would give him anything he needed, language barrier notwithstanding. He would just_ know.

_"Alexei," Mr. Jones said, in a voice Ivan recognized and did not like at all. "Why don't you come over here, son? There's a real pretty picture of Noah and all the animals."_

_Pretending he could not hear, Ivan wandered away, the back of his neck prickling with sweat. And shame._

_What was he thinking? At the end of the day, he was only a ratty-looking boy in a ratty-looking coat. Alfred should and would not stay with him, and Ivan had to leave before his stepfather locked him out in the cold. Again. He couldn't risk stepfather forcing him to take another ice bath or clouting his ears or bolting him the closet for an entire day._

_Katyusha had called social services once, and only once, after the man had dragged the frightened young girl to the barn for the first time and hurt her. And what had it come to? The police had poked around, asked a few questions, left, and then stepfather had flown into such a fury Ivan was certain neither he nor his sisters would survive the night._

_The investigators had not come back. And it needed to stay that way, because they would do nothing. Mr. Jones had an incredibly strange, almost earnest 'how-can-I-help-you'-ness to him, but Ivan knew he was probably just another patronizing, lying son of a bitch. He would take Ivan to the police station if only to make himself feel good and shove the boy into a grave._

_He had just decided to slip out the doors unnoticed when he stole a glance back at Alfred, and his breathing hitched._

_"Oh," Ivan breathed, descending a step._ "Oh."

_The full ferocity of the setting sun was shining through a myriad of stained glass, draping Joseph's cloak over the young boy. Alfred curiously looked down at the pale shadow staring at him, his face bathed in light, so many colors. A rainbow-like halo crowned his visage, surrounded by dry sunflowers on an altar of holiness, offerings to an image of perfection._

_Thoughts of escape went raw with longing, and Ivan slowly ascended one step after another, willing the dazzling firestorm of hues and life and happiness to envelope him, to make him Alfred's equal. No, he would never be the same, but what did that matter, when Alfred was standing before him with a bouquet of sunshine tucked in one arm, so vibrant, so pretty, so…._

_"Alexei?" Alfred asked curiously, cocking his head and extending a hand. "Alexei?"_

_Transfixed, Ivan just gazed at him, violet eyes as bright as stars, burned hands prickling hotly and unpleasantly as sweat trickled into the bandaged wounds._

"The day will come when I am like nothing to you, because I will be dead. There will be precious light in your life that if you do not hold tight to, it will slip away like a fish. Hold fast to it, Vanya, never let it go. Else someone smarter than you will snatch your angel and you will be bereft."

Hunger. _It was a different sort of hunger than the one that had pained him so only this afternoon, but this one gnawed at him with razor-sharp teeth, made greed gleam in strange lavender eyes. Ivan reached out a trembling bandaged hand, wanting to touch Alfred's face. His mouth was as dry as sandpaper, dark and drifting thoughts illuminated by one perfect word:_

**_Angel. _**

They are waiting, my darling, waiting to heal you and enfold you. When and if the time is right, they will come into your darkest dreams and give you the strength to try again."

"Does my angel love me?"

"Better than anyone else-it can only ever love you."

_Another step. Such a lovely and good thing that had come to him. Come to him, to Ivan, found him and healed him and comforted him._

_"Ангел мой," Ivan breathed, touching the startled boy's cheek. "Ангел мой."_

* * *

**The Sunflower Messiah**

**Sorry for different chapter name….upon reflection, this one seemed a lot more suiting. Hope y'all are doing well, and that everyone has a marvelous new year. So sorry it took me so long to update, but accidentally lost a lot of my work-in-progress through sheer stupidity. Like twenty pages worth of stuff. I almost cried/threw myself out a window. **

**I don't like this new chapter...*Grumbles* It's mostly Ivan-soliloquy. **

**For those of you who guessed where the quote from last chapter came from _Corpse Bride_—Guest and skyspottedshadow—you two have really good eyes! Kudos and hugs for you. **

**And to you, my lovely reviewers, I adore each one of your comments. I love you like Batman loves his cave. I love you like a child loves a teddy bear. I love you like advertisements love annoying us. I love you like Alfred loves his hamburgers. Aaaand I think I just might stop now before I seriously embarrass myself. ^^; **

**But I loves you! *Pounce huggles* Um….I don't love you like Ivan loves Alfred, though….sorry…**

**Happy Valentine's Day! I loves you!**

**Reviewers will earn my appreciation and heartfelt gratitude. **

o~*oOo*~o

His cell phone was ringing and the sound sent his heart pounding like a jackhammer inside of him, leaping up and down against his throat. Alfred tried his best to ignore the percussion instruments blaring insistently at him to pick up the damn call, stared ahead at the gloomy gray and white world before him as he swung back and forth. Back and forth. Between this and the butterflies fluttering frantically around his stomach, he was going to be nauseous. More so than he was already.

The device in his pocket at last fell blissfully silent, but before Alfred could reach for it it started to ring again. He cussed. _Not again. Please not again._ Why didn't he remember to just keep the thing off?

He hesitated; maybe it wasn't even him this time, though the chances of that seemed most unlikely. But the person trying so hard to reach him might be Kiku, or Mattie even. Without a second thought, Alfred pulled his vibrating and humming cell phone out of his pocket and checked the caller ID. Wished he hadn't. Wished the stupid, stupid phone would stop blasting its cheesy, over-the-top music that sounded as if it belonged in a children's cartoon or bad commercial. He needed a new ringtone. It honest to God _scared_ him to hear it just a little now. Hell, a new phone altogether might be nice, with a different number.

Why couldn't Ivan get a hobby? More importantly, why couldn't he take a hint?

At last his phone fell silent, but Alfred still considered chucking the device into one of the great dirty snowmounds nearby and running away, as if it were an activated grenade.

"Crap," he whined to no one but himself as he watched the new voice mail alert appear on the screen. He shoved the miserable cell back inside his pocket and leaned back in his seat, his sigh a misty puff in the frosty February air, disappearing quickly.

He didn't know why he was so scared. Because it was JUST Ivan. Ivan, who was obviously worried about him, Ivan, who made it a point to bring him unpoisoned baked goods and fuss over him and stroke his hair when he thought Alfred was sleeping on the sofa during one of Mattie's games, _petting_ him even after Alfred had at last told him explicitly to _knock that shit off—_

Alfred kicked his feet up in the air as high as they'd go, swinging so far that the entire set began making warning clicking sounds, old and dusty-with-salt frame trembling. The rusty chains were slow to absorb any of his body heat, no matter how tightly he clenched them.

His teeth chattered, and not necessarily from the cold swing freezing his rear off. Ugh, this hadn't been such a hot idea to work out his stress. If it weren't so icy out everywhere, he'd be out running. Running sounded pretty good to him right now, but not on his mother's stupid treadmill. He wanted to run, huffing and puffing, over large and towering distances and zigzag paths and speed until his feet were smoking stubs underneath him and he wound up—

_Where? _

He didn't know. But he didn't want to stay here anymore. Didn't like being out alone in this desolated and cold playground, out in the open like a mouse in an open prairie, but being confined in the house was worse. It reeked with grief, despite the good news that had come just a day ago: Mattie had been accepted by his top choice school in Canada. And Alfred had been accepted by his third choice school, so at least he knew he was _going_ to college.

But Mattie was still too miserable to celebrate, glazed, dead eyes staring at nothing, his face bleak and hopeless no matter how hard Alfred tried to charm it into a smile. At night, after Matthew had chased Alfred from his room, the soft sound of sobs could be heard from behind his door, and Alfred's heart broke for him, broke for Ismael, for Ismael's parents, for Kiku, for Ismael's little sis, now all alone in the world—

Getting lightheaded, he took a quick gulp of sharp, icy air as he swung forward, exhaling deeply.

_The only wrong thing to do in a great number of situations is nothing,_ Mr. Yao had remarked before his...going away. Oh, who the fuck was he kidding himself, he didn't believe in the slightest anymore that the man had just all of a sudden packed up and went to pursue his lifelong dream of being a costumed character at Puroland.

But that didn't answer two of the many questions burning inside of him, bumping around like a great number of atoms, into each other like a horde of confused and frightened children, shrilly calling out, demanding to be heard first:

_What's going on?_ He didn't want to know, oh God, he didn't, but he had to.

And, _What do I do now?_

Ismael was dead. Dead. Alfred's new glasses slipped off his nose and landed in the snow, but Alfred didn't even notice, still staring blankly at nothing. Ismael was dead. When would the shock, as if he'd been doused with a vase of cold water, go away?

Blue eyes wandered around the playground without actually seeing anything. Dead. Burned to a crisp. His parents too. The authorities had confirmed that it had been no accident, found _Kiku_ _Honda's_ bag at the scene full of _flammables_, took the frightened young Asian in for questioning despite his parents' protests-

Alfred leapt off the swing and rolled into the cold-hardened old snow, hugging himself. A second later, a sob escaped him, and he angrily socked the icy slush with all of his might. It wasn't Kiku. Kiku wasn't that kind of cold-blooded, heartless nutjob. He was definitely a pervert, but he was a pervert with a heart of gold, and Alfred had all but begged his father on hands and knees to drive him to the police station for a character witness. Thank God Mr. and Mrs. Honda had been with Kiku the night of...the night of the _incident_ three days ago, out at a Japanese steakhouse. Mr. Honda had just been promoted at work, so the family had gone out to dinner to celebrate.

Swiping at his eyes with a gloved fist, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, listening to the forlorn sounds of the swing still swaying back and forth in his wake, creaking softly.

Thankfully the police had released him, because unless Kiku had suddenly sprouted an evil twin, there was video evidence of him being at the restaurant at the time of the crime. Just like Ivan had photo proof that he couldn't have killed Yao. Sort of. It hadn't been HIM in the picture, but it _had_ been on his phone.

But what kind of proof was that? Alfred didn't even want to think about it. He grabbed his glasses, polished the lenses meticulously.

Either way you sliced it, it couldn't have been Kiku. Alfred had known this, but he'd still shook with relief when he'd grabbed his best friend in a bonebreaking hug when he was let go. They hadn't talked since, but they'd have to eventually. Mrs. Jones wasn't about to let her boys stay home from school forever. It had already been a few days.

He supposed he ought to go home, but if Ivan were waiting again there, he could probably just go hang out at the library again and look at the same page in a book for a couple of hours again. He'd call his Dad for a ride, and he could warn Alfred if Ivan were "hanging out" by their driveway again. The teen scowled angrily, kicked a stray can and fly across the ground, still shivering.

Ever since Ismael died, Alfred was tempted to ask Ivan to leave his toothbrush over; after all, he practically never left. It wasn't the friendly my-home-is-your-home thing he had with Kiku or Francis or whatever, but it had passed the fine line into creepy. Ivan either didn't get or chose not to understand Alfred's many hints of 'get the fuck out of my house' whilst his crying twin clung to him. If Alfred left the room, Ivan would follow. If Alfred went to the bathroom, he could hear Ivan shifting from behind the door, waiting, and whenever he least expected, arms were snaking were around his waist, pulling him in an embrace that was as possessive as it was friendly.

At first, Alfred tried to laugh it off as a joke, a particularly bad and recurring one, then had ignored it, and at last his patience snapped and he'd started batting at Ivan's hands, smacking them more than once. The Russian had looked like such a sad, bewildered child when Mrs. Jones at last gently suggested that perhaps it wasn't the best time for Ivan to be over right now.

He rolled his eyes when he felt the familiar flicker of guilt, but it was quickly extinguished with a cool sense of foreboding. Nowadays, it was far easier for Alfred to see what people had meant when they'd muttered uneasily about Ivan being creepy sometimes. Because Ivan really _could_ be creepy, fucking waiting near the driveway in his car, reading a book. Ivan claimed he had nothing better to do, but Alfred had begged him to go paint, go play soccer, go do _anything _anywhere away from Alfred, preferably over the state border.

Because it wasn't funny anymore. Not in the slightest. Even when Mr. Jones himself asked Ivan to leave, when Alfred looked out his bedroom window late at night, he could have sworn he saw an all-too- familiar vehicle passing by, taillights shining red in the darkness.

Those lights had scared him to no end, ended up haunting his dreams in the form of red eyes, violet eyes. He hadn't bothered to answer Ivan's many messages and calls, didn't check and see this morning whether or not Ivan were still skulking around the neighborhood. He'd simply pulled on his coat and boots, went to the backyard and hopped the fence, walked to the nearby park. Just what did Ivan want with him, anyway?

His eyes narrowed. _I just want to see your face, Alfredka._ That was something you said to your girlfriend, NOT your straight guy friend. Not your straight guy friend who hadn't properly slept for some time now, haunted with horrible dreams of Ismael writhing in flames, screeching.

Ismael was murdered, just hours after Alfred had fought with the guy.

His teeth were chattering so badly they were nipping his lips, making them raw, decorating them with little cuts. Oh, God. Alfred seized his stomach and tried to hold onto his breakfast. He never wanted to think about this, but he had to, how could he not, because Yao, Arthur, Ismael and his parents were _gone_...

"Help me," Alfred whimpered, taking a step back. "Help me."

He'd talked to the police, told them his concerns and they asked him about a million different questions, probably suspected HIM now, oh, God, was he a secret murderer? There was that ugly, ugly word bleeding across his thoughts-**_murder_**-but Ismael's death was the last straw-

Something was happening. Because of him. What was happening to all these people? Yao, Arthur, were they even alive out there? Or had they been...silenced? Because of him?

The world trembled before his eyes, distorting his vision and Alfred staggered back another step, his back not meeting air but something sturdy, made up of sinew and bone, something warm. Alfred let out a soundless exclamation as a pair of warm hands seized his shoulders and twisted him around, purple eyes boring into his own, so close they were consuming his immediate vision.

"_Privyet_, little one," Ivan said pleasantly, his eyes very cold. "Have you been ignoring me?"

o~*oOo*~o

_Two Years Ago_

_He'd skritched at the hard floor so much his nails had been reduced to stubs; one of them had fallen off. The raw pink flesh pulsed and stung angrily as Ivan pressed his bleeding knuckles to shaking lips._

_This was a mistake. He did not belong here in this cell. He had done nothing wrong._

_With a roar of fury, he charged against the wall, pounding against it even as iron hot pain became his bloody, madly shaking hands, the blistered and ruined stubs that were now connected to his wrists—_

It's not fair. Let me out._ **Let me out!**_

_The young man struck the filthy wall so hard a surge of agony shot through his entire body and Ivan fell to his knees with a wild cry, still scratching wildly away at the walls as if several of his now nail-less fingers, torn off and exposed and pierced with pain, could wear away through solid stone._

_When the pain became too much for even him to bear, he fell backwards, and for the first time in years, Ivan_ wept. W_ept wildly, wept until his throat was burning and he was certain he tasted the metallic tang of pennies, the scent that permeated the air, rust that burned into him, over his eyes until Ivan wanted to claw them out, because death would be better than this great injustice, anything would be better than this living hell which he could not endure alone—_

_Tears slowly oozed down his dirty and grubby skin like hot tar. Ivan rocked back and forth, trying to will the great despair that wailed from every crevice of this mad place like so many lost, keening angels, their eyes cut with woe and hopelessness and **let me out let me live I've done nothing wrong it's them who made me what I am!**_

_He'd never wanted to hurt anyone. Or perhaps he had, but that was only after they'd harmed him first. Then the bloodlust was on him, splattered before his thoughts in so many dark, shining droplets, painting the world red even as he calmly went out his business, holding a writhing body below the water until it was at last still. Peacefully still._

_Ivan's pale and cracked lips tentatively mouthed a near-forgotten tune._

_There_ was _some satisfaction when at last there was peace and stillness, when silvery bubbles stopped drifting to the surface and the body only lay a still and calm lump of flesh, though it seemed to be obstinate even in death by incriminating Ivan yet again, bore testament to supposed violence with blackened handprints around a neck where no pulse beat, but—_

_The name they gave him in the papers was a cruel falsehood. He wasn't the Butcher Boy. Resignation that had come from this faux justice had long since evaporated, leaving him cold._

_The little rabbits that had struggled and kicked deserved to die, for hurting his feelings when he had only ever been gentle, loving. It wasn't as if they would be missed—the others were mere larger rabbits, not likely to be missed by anyone, really. He'd been doing society a favor, even if people at large looked away and dismissed him as a lunatic, when all he'd been trying to do was scrap together some form of life for himself and his sisters—!_

_And yet they would call him mad. Condemn him to this pissant hell, where dark shadows leered and twisted and loomed, and madmen beckoned with gnarled fingertips and held you down and HURT YOU if you did not hurt them first, and once you did you were sent to solitary confinement, which upon arrival was even worse than the touches and manhandling itself, because you were alone, alone, **alonealonealonealonealone**—_

_Every inch of his battered frame aching, he breathed in; the cold air tasted like rust and the mustiness that came with cobwebs and emptiness and broken dreams. They were impervious to his screaming, the fact that he'd ripped so many tufts of his hair out of his sore scalp, crusty with clotted blood._

_A signal flared in the dark mires of his mind like an unexpected firefly in the darkness, and Ivan abruptly sat up, tears still rushing down his dirty and pale face._

_He ripped the threadbare sheet off his ruined and stained old cot, staggered to the grimy, cracked toilet and flung it into the dirty water; with hands that continued to throb with searing pain, a gasping Ivan fashioned a noose and flung it over one of the many pipes, rushing to his cot and shoving the loop over his neck._

_Ivan took one last look at the gloomy and dingy cell around him, his vision clouded with raw terror and tears._

_Soon all of it would be over. With some difficulty he kicked the bed over and suddenly Ivan was dangling in midair, gasping, crying silently as he choked, feet flailing hopelessly as he braced himself for the snap—_

_And the knot he clumsily made undid itself and Ivan went crashing to the ground, his head colliding with the floor with a sickening crack. He tasted blood in his mouth from where he bit his tongue—black_.

ooooo

oooo

ooo

oo

o

_Wheezing, he lay in squalor, bleeding, dirty and so ready to die, when they burst into existence; little hands. Perfect, uninjured little hands that had found Ivan's so many years ago, lead him up the stone steps of the cathedral of light. Trembling, Ivan's breath hitched, eyes widening in horror, than wonder._

_Alfred._

_The boy was just as he remembered him, bright, bright blue eyes, freckled face, large smile. But so much more impossibly, breathtakingly beautiful than a young Ivan had recalled. The child's skin glowed, as if he were not a young boy but a fallen star, a lantern, and instead of overalls and sneakers, Alfred wore a white gown that looked soft to the touch. Brilliant wings exuded from his back, magnificent, white as driven snow, yet shone with the colors that mysteriously appear in luminous pearls reflecting firelight._

_Transfixed, aghast, Ivan uneasily edged away from the holy creature, wondering wildly if he had already died so quickly, so suddenly. Was this sweet little memory the specter of death itself? It was certainly an improvement over the grim-eyed skeleton Ivan had pictured._

_The cherub gazed at him, expression neither happy nor unhappy. It scrutinized him, as if puzzled._

Ivan.

_The young man choked on a sob, hot tears pouring down his battered face, nose bleeding from the impact of his fall. It was Alfred. Even with his wings and the crown of stars circling his head, it was Alfred. And he came to the same conclusion he had ten years ago:_

_"You are mine," Ivan marveled, almost daring to believe it. The little angel cocked his head, smiled._

Yes, _it said plaintively, as if this were old news._ Don't cry. _A soft hand, so soft it nearly felt immaterial but it_ wasn't _and Ivan pressed it to his ugly, imploring face._

_"How can I not cry?" Ivan choked, gritting his teeth and revealing a few empty spaces. Someone had beaten him very badly, knocked a couple of molars free. "I am in hell. I am alone and I am in hell."_

_Alfred's precious face twisted in sorrow and Ivan's heart twanged. Such spellbinding eyes._ _Such lovely eyes looking at him with such sadness, both terrible and marvelous at once because these were the eyes Ivan had so invariably craved his entire life. But Alfred was so tender and pure a creature that Ivan loathed to see pain reflected in his eyes. Those eyes did not reflect the horrified heartbreak of his sister's face when Natalya and Ivan had been lead out of the courtroom—these were twinkling, overflowing, azure eyes that shone with pity and love and Ivan shakily clapped dingy hands over the rosy cheeks, still gazing dazedly at the angel who looked at him in turn. And did not look away!_

But you are not alone. I am here.

_"How can you be?" The flesh was solid under his feelings, pliable and sweet, but still impossible. "Nyet, I do not believe it, you are gone, lost…"_

_Alfred put a tiny hand over Ivan's dirty, infected hand, keeping it pressed against his face. _You don't have to continue hiding from me, Ivan. I'm easier to find than you think I am.

_"You…" A trickle of blood raced from Ivan's mouth. "You, like that day…..you cried…."_

_A croaky laugh._

_"It is so beautiful…."_

Come back to me, Ivan. I will set you free. It wasn't your fault. What you did.

_"Da, da, it is, it is…." His face screwed up, and he bit back a sob. "It is, little one…."_

Your conscience absolves you, _Alfred said gently, leaning forward and kissing both of Ivan's eyes with petal soft lips. Tears trickled down from both, as if in response._ You did what you had to do to protect yourself. Others. Me, whose home is in you. You did the right thing, Ivan, and your hands are not bloody for it. You are glorious.

_"Me?"_

You. If someone tried to hurt me, Ivan, what would you do?

_A predatory glint appeared in Ivan's dilated eyes, which darkened with rage._

_"I would kill them," he snarled. "I would rip and tear and burn them away from this world. No one will touch you, ever. It is as you say: You are mine."_

I will give you light, _the cherub said as Ivan pressed him to his heart._ Everything that is mine will be yours. I won't look at anyone else. I will give you the strength to carry on, even in hell. So be kind to yourself, Ivan. You are better than them, and so you deserve to live. Protect me the way you say you will, and I will forever keep you from harm. I love you.

_"You've done enough," Ivan muttered, wiping his eyes and feeling ashamed of himself. Alfred had already given him purpose to live again, proof of genuine, glorious benevolence, was the living embodiment of his mother's words. How could Ivan possibly expect any more from him when he was so heartbreakingly breakable, so innocent with those large, sweet eyes, so very tiny? It was as if a linnet had hopped to him and proposed to bear Ivan with its little wing. Almost laughable in its impossible sweetness._

_Realizing that Alfred was very likely freezing in this hellhole, Ivan seized a dirty sheet and wrapped it around his shivering angel, wishing sorely that he had damask and silks instead._

_"This is a despicable world we live in, rotten to the core, and they will eat you alive," Ivan smiled lopsidedly when Alfred buried his little face in Ivan's shoulder. "Hush. Do not worry. I will not let anyone touch you. You are mine, my own little innocent, and I will keep you safe in my dreams."_

_Hours later, one of the asylum staff went to check on Ivan, and found him rocking back and forth, crooning a lullaby and clutching a bundle of rags, a beatific smile upon his mad face._

o~*oOo*~o

Alfred nearly shrieked, but he _just_ managed to clap his hands to his mouth in time, his ears burning red. Holy. Hell. How the _hell_ had Ivan managed to find him all the way out here? Did Ivan have to freaking _stalk_ him because Alfred wasn't available to "play" at the moment?

As usual, some of his anger dissipated when he looked up at Ivan, who was smiling slightly, a boyish, albeit fixed smile. He was clearly waiting for a response. Well, if Ivan could play stupid, so could Alfred. It was only fair.

"Uh...hey, man," he said weakly, making a wan attempt to grin. He wondered if it even showed on his face. "Fancy meeting you here. Sure you're busy doing whatever right now and I just remembered something I have to do, so—"

"Little one," Ivan said gently, stepping forward. Apparently the ten minute tutorial Alfred had graciously given him last time they'd met on what not to call him had been completely wasted. It had been cute last year, but now he just wanted to punch Ivan in the big nose. He wasn't even that much shorter than him! "I have been very worried about you, da? Have you been getting my calls at all?"

Alfred forced a laugh. "Sorry, I uh, lost my phone."

And then, THEN of all times, someone other than Ivan chose to call and the device in his pocket began to ring shrilly. Alfred jumped, resolving immediately to take the cell to a quiet place in the woods and shoot it. "H-hey! It was in my pocket this whole time! Who knew?" _Play it cool, don't stammer, don't stammer_ "Well, it was very nice seeing you—"

"You cannot mean to be walking back to your place in this weather," Ivan objected, stepping forward until the two were almost nose to nose. Extremely uncomfortable, Alfred looked at the ground and uneasily inched away, but to his great annoyance (and admittedly some panic), he saw Ivan's boots step forward again, following him. "My car is nearby. I will take you home."

"Nah. I'm good. Thanks though." Goddammit, no wonder Lizzy didn't want to go out with him when his voice was so freakishly high. When did THAT happen? "I just needed to get out of the house for awhile. Things have been…" Shaky bark of laughter. "Really weird…for a long time now."

Ivan's strained grimace eased up just a little bit, and the Russian looked a little regretful at the very least. "I am sorry, Alfred. How is Matthew doing?"

"As good as anyone can be when their best friend's gone," he muttered dolefully, walking away.

"But how are _you_?" Ivan pressed, his footsteps crunching the solid snow beneath him as he easily kept pace with , one stride for every two of Alfred's. "What with Kiku being interrogated and all…"

Alfred made sure his voice would not crack before speaking. "Rotten," he said honestly. "I feel absolutely rotten about the whole thing, so I probably need a little more alone time right now." _Please, please don't make me tell you to get the fuck away from me._ He had no idea how Ivan would react to such a response, did not want to find out.

"I am thinking that is the last thing you need right now," Ivan said firmly, and with such sincerity Alfred mentally shot himself. "When I am sad, I like to have my friends around. We are all here for you, Alfred. I am here."

Troubled, Alfred just let out a noncommittal grunt.

Ivan couldn't kill anyone. He was too gentle, the Lenny to his George, for Christ's sake. He even had solid proof that he couldn't have killed Yao.

_Gentle? He was anything but a few days ago_, A slightly hysteric voice in his head snapped. _When he beat the living shit out of Ismael. And so what if he had a picture on his phone? His phone might have been in the city, but he could just have easily been _here,_ after Mr. Yao! Wake the hell _up_, Jones!_

"Alfred?" Ivan sounded more concerned than ever. "Alfred, are you alright?"

He almost smiled at that. Almost.

"N-not really, man. But it's not me so much as it is Mattie."

The Russian's eyes thawed again, though the tall and awkward young man still looked so sad. Alfred could hardly stand it.

"Would you like to go see a movie?" Ivan offered charmingly, albeit in a somewhat brusque fashion. "I believe there are some good ones in…"

"No," Alfred said, too fast. "Can't. Sorry, buddy, but I really have to-"

"Would you care to get something to eat?" It didn't sound like much of a suggestion, and Ivan had already slipped a warm hand on his forearm, was clearly trying to hurry him to his car. Alfred instinctively recoiled, immediately went to flick some dust off his jacket so as to not have to look at the hurt expression he already knew was on Ivan's face.

_It's so freaky. But is he just lonely? _

_What if...?_

"Where were you three nights ago?" Alfred blurted out without thinking.

Ivan blinked. "Oh, Katyusha and I were putting old puzzle together," he said vaguely, still smiling that large, painful-looking smile. "Was missing some of the pieces, though…why do you ask?"

His voice was lighthearted, but also guarded. Alfred just looked at Ivan, really looked at him. Ivan looked curiously blank, certainly wasn't sweating bullets like any other murderer would be when being questioned. And just who the heck could lie so well as that? Ivan was his age, and Alfred was practically Pinocchio when it came to telling falsehoods, as Mattie was so keen to point out.

_But Arthur had injured Alfred right before he disappeared._

_Mr. Yao had been about to fail Alfred. _

And now Ismael and his parents were lost. He and Ismael had gotten into a fist fight days ago. Ivan showed up. He'd somehow been involved each and every time. Either the worst coincidence of the century or something lurked behind Ivan's childish, innocent smile.

Alfred shrugged, mentally making a map of the area and planning escape routes to take if need be.

"Just curious. Ivan, did you and Ismael-"

"Are you certain you would not like to get some ice cream or something?"

"No, thanks," Alfred said hurriedly, glancing nervously around the mostly deserted parking lot. How did he miss Ivan's car? "I'm going to see how Kiku's doing. Hopefully he's not too shaken up by the whole thing, though I'm sure he is. The whole school was, from what I heard. Well, have a nice—"

"So odd, that his bag would be found on lawn…." Ivan mused aloud, conveniently cutting the young man off yet again and effectively pissing Alfred off. "Full of fire-starters, no less!"

"If he says someone broke into his locker, someone broke into his locker," Alfred snapped defensively. "It's not like that hasn't happened to me before. His folks insist that he was with them the whole night of the…the fire. Aaaand they can prove Kiku was with them, without a doubt." Okay, NOW Ivan was starting to look a little unnerved. "Besides, Kiku and Ismael got along pretty good, considering, so there's no motive. And he's not a violent person. Someone's tryin' to frame him."

_Someone's walking around killing people. Might have killed Arthur. My teacher. _

_And they're all connected to me. _

Forget going to Kiku's house. He wanted to hide underneath his bed and never come out.

"But what about that kiss?" Ivan asked falteringly as Alfred strode away, trying to lose his drifting shadow hurrying along beside him. "He ignored fact that you are straight, forced himself on you—"

"Like I said, the two of us go way back," The boy said abruptly, not even looking in Ivan's direction. "We've gotten through a lot of crap before, so we'll get through this, too." He sighed, a long, heavy sound. "I just wanna be there for him after all the garbage he's been through. Poor guy's probably scared out of his mind, and he didn't even do anything…"

"I think he is guilty." Now it was Ivan's voice's turn go an octave higher. "His bag was at the scene, WITH materials to start a fire! What more proof do you need, Alfredka?"

Alfred shook, willing himself to calm down. The last thing he wanted to do was lose it around a guy who'd proved time and again that he was a little emotionally unstable. "Ivan, I just need to be left alone right now, okay?"

"You should not be alone. You are upset," Ivan insisted, grabbing the young man's arm and yanking him backwards. "Tell me what you need, **Солнышко**, and I will—"

Alfred ripped his arms free with a snarl, and screamed:

**"I JUST TOLD YOU I NEED TO BE ALONE! SO GET THE FUCK LOST!"**

Silence. As soon as the last word spilled out, Alfred went cold, then white-hot with dread. A thousand apologies stampeded into his head like panicked buffalo into a wall, but he remained curiously still, though his body tensed for the swift fist he was certain would smash into his face any second now. It was a long, painful moment before Alfred looked up and when he did, he found himself wishing for the violent blow he so expected.

A stricken Ivan was staring at him, looking shocked, large violet eyes set with hurt. He looked like a child who has just stroked a fuzzy and docile-looking guinea pig, only to have the creature immediately sink its teeth into his skin.

"….sorry, man," Alfred murmured quietly, tearing his eyes away from the silent Russian's destroyed face. "I just…..just…."

The words that came next were easy because they were true:

"I don't know what to do anymore."

And he ran away.

* * *

~*oOo*~

Alfred hadn't planned on heading to Kiku's that day, but by the time he finally heaved over and fought to get air inside his burning lungs, he found himself in Kiku's subdivision. Hesitant, half-hoping the Hondas would not be home, he awkwardly shuffled over to the familiar house, heart sinking a little when he saw Mrs. Honda's car in the drive. Well, it was now or never.

Still panting, he cut across the lawn (which Mr. Honda hated) and knocked. After a moment or so, Kiku opened the door, wide and scared-looking brown eyes narrowing slightly when they took in Alfred. Set shoulders sagged somewhat, though the young man still looked inexplicably nervous, reminiscent of when Alfred had first glimpsed the shy boy standing alone at the playground many years ago, but worse. Alfred blinked, taken aback-judging from the dark shadows littering Kiku's careworn face, he obviously had not slept.

"Konnichiwa, Alfred."

He scuffed his worn white sneaker on the cold concrete. Just a week or so ago Kiku would be standing aside to let his friend in with a small smile and Alfred would be merrily blabbing on about nothing. Now, he just meekly returned, "Hey, Kiku." Another pause. Dude, having your parents walk in in the midst of sex was probably less painfully awkward than this. "Mind if I come in?"

"Of course."

Alfred obliged, sighing slightly with relief as the door closed behind them, a sentiment Kiku seemed to share. He turned both locks behind them before glancing away, not seeming to know where to look. "I thought...you might be police again."

"How...how ya been?"

Kiku didn't answer that. It was probably better not to ask.

"Wanna play something?" he asked uncertainly, hoping to diffuse the tension somewhat. "Like...Mario or maybe one of those board games ya like?" He knew Kiku well enough by now that whenever he wanted to be seriously distracted, he'd go with some complex strategy game or some shit.

The hint of a smile appeared in Kiku's weary brown eyes. "I would like to play Go. But every time we play, you forget the rules and assume we're playing Chinese checkers. Or immediately make up your own rules."

"Hero's word of honor I won't do whatever it was you just said," Alfred said with mock solemnity, grinning when at last the smile melted just a bit onto Kiku's face. "And I totally don't do that, though if I did, it's cause the rules are too damn hard. Uh, lead the way?"

He traipsed after Kiku upstairs to his room, staying unusually quiet as his friend set up the board. Maybe they wouldn't need to talk about the Russian or kissing at all; maybe it was just something best swept under the rug and ignored. But as enticing as it sounded, Alfred wanted to herd the elephant out of the room as quickly as possible, as well as finally get some answers.

"I saw Ivan today," he remarked as he picked up a black game piece, turning it over in his hand.

"Oh" was the boy's only response as he pushed a white piece forward. "I see."

"He's...god, Kiku, he's..." The dam burst. "I don't want to be alone with him anymore. I feel like some scared effing girl now, but he won't stop calling and he won't stop driving by! It's completely insane! And the worst part it, he's being a jerk about it by NOT being a jerk about it, so I can't call him out without yelling at him and being an absolute prick, which I kinda did before I ran over here."

A piece slid out of Kiku's hand. "You yelled at him?"

Alfred nodded sheepishly. "Yeah...he found me outside...he didn't want to go away...it's so annoying and creepy but I feel so _bad_ for the guy, I just..." He shook his head, letting out a weak chuckle. "I'm probably gonna end up apologizing before long."

"I wouldn't have the courage to deny him anything, Alfred-san. He's...he's frightening."

Uneasy, Alfred had to agree. Now that he wasn't actually in the intimidating boy's presence, it was easier to pity him, view him in an easier life. God, why couldn't Ivan just be a jerk or be nice so that Alfred could neatly file him away in some category? "Bad enough his stupid cat knocked up my stupid cat. Vodka ought to wear freaking protection if they don't get him fixed," Alfred griped and Kiku looked up, startled.

"Franklin? But Alfred, I thought Franklin was a-"

"Boy?" Alfred asked dully, dropping a black stone on the Go board. "Yeah, so did I when I found the poor little guy...girl..a few years ago. I looked, and..." Alfred fidgeted, flushing from the roots of his hair to his toes. "Well, I THOUGHT she was a he," he said defensively, making a face when Kiku started to smile again. "He'd...she'd just been born...and I didn't KNOW cats had umbilical cords...and..." Alfred shifted as Kiku dropped a white piece, still blushing. "It was a prank my family played on me. They let me call the damn cat Franklin and now I can't take it back, cause she won't answer to anything else. Mattie woulda laughed so hard until he crapped his pants if he wasn't so sad."

Kiku sighed. "Poor, poor Matthew-san. So you are going to keep the kittens?"

His face was composed, but inwardly Alfred gloated. _Yeah, I know you, even if they're kinda sorta Ivan's creepy grandkittens, you want one._ "I guess. The vet felt around and said there's definitely two at least, probably no more than four. Ivan's ecstatic about the whole thing, and I'm not sure whether or not Vodka knows or cares he's going to be a Daddy, but I guess he thinks something's up, considering how many dead animals he's dragging in the house and leaving in Franklin's bowl."

Kiku didn't say anything for a moment. "You don't seem very excited," he began hesitantly as Alfred dropped another piece. "And I know you love animals."

"I should be happy," Alfred returned dully. "Mom's not so gleeful because we have to find homes for the cats, but that shouldn't be too hard." He grinned wickedly when Kiku fidgeted a little. "Normally, I'd be real happy right now, Kiku-I'm gonna graduate in a few months, my cat's having kittens, going to college...everything's fine...besides the fact that you and I...um...and that you've been accused of crap I know you'd never, ever do. It must be..." Alfred pathetically trailed off again. How do you squeeze 'you've been accused of murder and arson' into one little 'too bad?'

He glanced up again, and the blond's stomach twisted when he saw Kiku's normally composed face twisted with pain, eyes shining with tears.

"I am sorry, Alfred-san, so sorry—"

"Naw, man. My bad." He said hastily, holding up his hands. "I shouldn't have freaked out on ya like that. It's okay."

"I'm still sorry."

Kiku still looked miserable, and Alfred wanted so badly to see him smile again, to somehow make everything right. "Look...do I have your word of honor that it wasn't you getting inside my locker and leaving those notes?"

"Of course!" The Asian protested, looking indignant at his best friend's doubt. "Alfred-chan, despite what you may think, I have never, ever lied to you. Ever. You know me too well for that. Even if I did lie to you, I am awful at it-even you could pick up on it immediately."

Unaware for the moment that Kiku had ribbed him just a little, Alfred plopped on his back with a near-comical sigh. Looking apprehensive, Kiku peered up from the board. "Al...?"

"I believe you, man." And he _did_, a hundred and twelve percent, which was more satisfying than it had any right to be. But until days ago, he trusted the Asian the way he trusted his twin-infallibly. It felt so good to have some of this uncertainty back, even if it wasn't cleared up just yet. "And no duh ya wouldn't have...seriously hurt anyone. We'll get this cleared up in a matter of days, they catch the bastard, and..." His breath caught, and a hot blush settled on his face. Clearing his throat, Alfred pressed his heels together and swung himself back into a sitting position, this time unable to look his worried friend straight in the eye.

"You're my brother from another mother, Kiku, my sister from another mister, that lost triplet that doesn't actually look like Mattie or me and is a whole lot shorter, but-"

"Alfred-san, you're rambling."

He swallowed. "Yeah. Yeah I am. Uh, point in...point, man, even if ya weren't the one breaking into my locker, you're still the guy that k-kissed me." Damn it, damn it, damn it all there was that squeak again, maybe he could somehow have that surgically removed.

His little panda face flushed, Kiku stared at his hands with large amber eyes. "Hai, there is that."

"Why?"

"Because I like you very much. I discovered last year through some...wandering and...much spiritual exploring..."

"You were surfing porn, weren't you?"

Huffing, Kiku threw a pillow at him. "Last year, I came to terms with my own bisexuality. I did not want to tell you, Alfred-chan, because you are my best friend and while I knew you would accept me, I was afraid...you might assume that I had some perverted reason for hanging out with you all the time."

"Kiku, you _are_ a pervert," Alfred said kindly. "My own seriously polite, closet pervert. C'mon, you've been stashing your Dad's Playboys in your closet and buying weird ass Japanese porn since you were ten. But I wouldn't have ditched you over that, man."

Face still ruddy, Kiku gave Alfred a pitying glance. "But the truth is...at risk of sounding silly, I always felt drawn to you, Alfred-chan. You attract everyone of course, with your big booming voice and your happiness and your 'can-do'-ness and your ridiculous schemes and your obnoxious laugh..."

"Hey!"

"Ismael is..._was_ a great exception." Kiku drew his knees up to his chest and smiled a timid, tired smile. "You may rub a lot of people the wrong way, Alfred, but I think the best part of you is that most cannot help but love you and root for you. When I began to think I wanted...well, it did not matter, because you liked girls and I did not want to make you uncomfortable. Then," Kiku's eyes narrowed into slits, and Alfred shivered; he_ swore_ he felt ice crystals radiating off him. "Ivan showed up, who is very obviously in love with you."

Playing with his stockinged feet, body a living flame of sheer embarrassment and something that felt strangely akin to pleasure, Alfred sputtered. "W-wha? No, Kiku, Ivan's not gay, he told me so." _At least he told me he kissed a girl, but that doesn't make a piece of cooked spaghetti stand straight._

"He told you he is not attracted to you?" Kiku sounded skeptical.

Alfred seized a nearby pillow and hid his face in it. "No, but he never said he _was_...s'not like he's ever asked me to go out on a _date_ or anything..."

"You really are hopeless."

Scowling, Alfred peeked out of his cushion just a little so that his nose and narrowed eyes poked out. "Yeah? And what about you? Ivan showed up, ya think he...likes me a lot, so what?"

"I was jealous." Kiku said simply, hands curling into fists from where they rested on his thighs. "He was making point to keep you all to himself even after you two finished soccer season. You used to ride your bicycle alongside me as I went home, then suddenly Ivan insisted you come with him in his car every day. When the three of us talk, Ivan, who normally says nothing when everyone is together, now will not shut up, will say anything to keep your attention. He wants to carry your books, he gives me ugly look when you choose me over him, like he wants to slide penknife in my back—"

"Kiku, j-just wait, I can—"

"I was _jealous,_" Kiku emphasized again, biting his lip as he always did when he had to be brutally honest about his opinion. "He always wants to touch you. Anytime you complain about a sore muscle at the lunch table, he is first to volunteer to massage. He has to sit next to you in every class! If I try to feed you from my bento because you forgot your lunch _again_, Ivan knocks it aside and insists on feeding you his own food. THEN he starts bringing two lunches every day, just in case you should forget yours!"

Alfred flinched. "Okay, okay, even I knew that was a little weird, but—"

"Anywhere he can follow you, he goes. You mention that you and I are going to bookstore, guess who we run into? If you asked him to throw himself in front of a bus for you, you know he would do it! I see the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is noticing; it is like dog who adores his master! The way he brushes dirt off your clothes and touches your hand to get your attention and the way he smiles when you hug him! He does not want to let go!"

Starting, as if remembering himself, Kiku bit the inside of his lip, hard. "And you are dense, Al-chan, so for the most part you just smile. But lately you turn red, and it is..." God, Alfred felt like throwing himself from the window right now out of sheer mortification.

"What I want to do for you. To you. With you. I understand, Alfred, if you only like girls, and I am sorry for being so inappropriate and forgetting your feelings, but that day you were about to leave, I just..." Kiku's eyes glittered with unshed tears and the bottom dropped out of Alfred's stomach. _Please don't cry, don't cry, don't cry_. He wanted to wave a hand over this and just _fix_ it all.

After a long pause, Alfred said brusquely, "You know, I never even thought about liking...liking another guy. I'm not attracted to Ivan that way. But..." A flash of pink as he licked his lip, mouth suddenly very dry.

"If you wouldn't...mind, if you promise...just this one time, okay?" He pleaded when Kiku looked up at him again. "Please, _please_ don't get the wrong idea here. I just….this is for me, too," he warned. "If I don't….like it, d'you promise your feelings won't get hurt? Can we go back to being friends?"

This was probably a bad idea. A very bad one. He was getting Kiku's hopes up, and probably just confirming his own 105% heterosexuality. But just one flimsy kiss with someone he'd shared peanut butter and banana sandwiches with in preschool and watched horror movies with and seen naked in a bathtub (first grade, he had convinced Kiku it would be fun to try repainting the kitchen wall) would probably be innocent enough if by chance...well, there was no chance. They'd walk away having learned valuable life lessons: Alfred was not gay, and Kiku needed to stick with tentacle stories or find someone that could give him what he wanted.

"I-" Kiku quietly inhaled, exhaled slowly. Alfred would have paid anything to have known what he was thinking. "Yes. I should like that very much."

"Alright. Get over here."

Kiku slowly crawled over on his knees, and the scene was so ridiculous Alfred could have laughed. But his heart was thumping against his windpipe, making it hard to do so much as smile. The Asian paused feet away from the blond, probably hoping or expecting Alfred to make the first move.

Shaking his head, Alfred scooted over, taking hold of Kiku's chin after a moment's hesitation and guiding it up so that the young man would make fucking eye contact with him for once. Kiku squirmed, uncomfortable but holding his gaze, and Alfred felt the cream-colored skin beneath his fingers burning.

_How would I have kissed Elizaveta_?

He leaned forward, and Kiku hastily copied him. Their lips touched, and while Alfred wasn't exactly exploding in desire, the kiss didn't leave him with a bad taste in his mouth or paralyzed with disgust. It was just soft, simple, not terrible, not fantastic, just the simple, warm brush of skin against skin. It was nice enough that he felt an agreeable warmth briefly flutter across him. He drew back, and Kiku followed suit, eyes downcast and blushing darkly. It was good to know that despite Alfred's appalling lack of manliness-feeling lately, someone could still want him.

Someone whose name wasn't Ivan.

Without discussing it, they moved again for another tentative kiss. And then another. This wasn't bad. Kiku squeezed his eyes shut again, and Alfred very tentatively ran a tongue over the boy's pale pink lip, shivering when Kiku opened and gave him access. He wasn't exactly an open mouth smoocher because the idea was more than a little gross to him, but if he was all about trying something new...

_Why not_?

Kiku whimpered, his fingers digging into Alfred's sweater, eagerly tugging him closer. _Just one kiss more and I'll be done_. Kiku was cupping his face-_okay, just another. Then that's it_. _Caput_.

Ankle-deep in snow, a stricken Ivan Braginski watched from the front yard, haunted eyes the size of dinner plates as he watched his darling One, his god embracing Kiku Honda, kissing him. Like a leech, the dark-haired wraith clung to him, his hands sifting greedily through Alfred's beautiful, sun-spewn hair-

No.

The sunflower he'd been holding broke in his grip, yellow petals drifting to the ground. _No_.

At last they broke apart, Kiku looking incredibly dazed, Alfred sheepish but smiling, not shrieking because of the abomination, not calling out for his Vanya, the follower who loved him unduly and to whom Alfred had promised to adore unconditionally-

**_No!_**

Ivan would have howled if there were any sound left in him, room for anything else but horror. No. No. His cherished one was being defiled. Kiku was kissing and touching his sweet and Alfred was _allowing_ it. He had betrayed his safekeeper. Ivan had allowed his little boy to run away from him and this was the price he paid.

_"There will be precious light in your life that if you do not hold tight to, it will slip away like a fish. Hold fast to it, Vanya, never let it go. Else someone smarter than you will snatch your angel and you will be bereft."_

One ragged, stuttering breath that had no air in it, no relief. He staggered to the door, his thoughts painted with the red-black tendrils of death, ravenous death, the black of justice laced with the dark ribbons that were the screams of the wrongdoing. Kiku belonged in hell, belonged to oblivion, and Ivan would not give him a moment's mercy when he sent him on his way. He would force the boy to swallow hot oil, he would kill his parents and force him to watch as he took his angel to paradise, the feast in which Kiku would never, ever be able to partake in. With yellowed eyes, the craven figure watched as the two started talking again, the seductive whore thankfully making no more moves on little Alfred, though Ivan _knew_ what direction the wretched cogs in his head were turning.

Alfred was being tricked. Distracted by a poisonous vapor, a devil, seeking to corrupt snow-white purity and defile the angel, drag him into damnation. Anything to keep him away from his soul's twin, who _understood_ his perfect one's value, his nobility, his beauty.

His angel was pink-faced, laughing slightly as Kiku shyly leaned forward to bump noses with him, eyes shining in the warm glow of his room.

And so _It_ and _Them_ were set free.

Ivan's hand flew onto the door handle, and he very nearly wrenched the door off its hinges, ghosted upstairs and stabbed Kiku in his throat. But as he watched the two only talk and laugh, he only festered in silence, in deep and absolute **_hatred._**

There would be no more waiting. Regardless of the circumstances, Kiku Honda would die.

When Alfred and Kiku stumbled out later that evening (Alfred had wound up staying for so long that it grew dark, and Kiku offered to drive him home), talking and laughing, the former stepped on something that crunched under his shoe him. Curious, he'd looked down to find a frozen sunflower, stripped of most of its petals.

~*oOo*~

* * *

A few days later, iron bells solemnly tolled the funeral procession for the Sanchez family at St. Mary's. Needless to say, it was hardly a cheerful ceremony, presided over by Ismael's grandparents and wide-eyed little sister, who blankly looked at the mourners wishing her condolences as if she were watching a farce. Alfred hurt for her, for Mattie, whose straight and solemn face collapsed into tears not three lines into his speech. Kiku kept petting his elbow on one side of him as Alfred kept wiping at all the dust specks that kept gathering in his eyes. Damn old musty church.

Sitting next to a gaggle of Ismael's close friends, feeling hot and awkward and somewhat ashamed, wishing that he had not felt compelled to come, Alfred rocked back and forth in the pew, fingers loosening his black tie. His eyes wandered to the three coffins at the front of the church, where photos and wreaths of flowers surrounded Ismael and his parents' bodies.

What was left of them, anyhow. Alfred felt his stomach roll, and he nearly bolted out then and there.

_Thank God this isn't open casket_.

"Poor little girl," he heard Ivan say quietly from not too far away, not looking at him. Alfred had indeed apologized (much to Kiku's displeasure) two days hence, and while the Russian assured him all was well, the boy was distant now, no longer hovering beside him or just appearing behind him. Maybe he'd ruined things for good with him.

Sadness, relief, yet more bitter guilt and confusion when he saw Ivan soberly lay a bouquet of sunflowers at the altar, taking a moment to stoop to the little girl's level and quietly wish her well. That wasn't the face of a murderer. Was it? Shit, when would it all end?

~*oOo*~

As people began to drift off home or to the reception, Ivan called out, "Francis."

The young man turned and Ivan hurried to him, eyes strangely keen. "I was thinking…perhaps tomorrow….we might throw a little party at my place. Would you care to come?"

Francis blinked, looking taken aback.

"Party? Ah, Ivan, you know how I love a good party, but right now…."

"That is just what I mean," Ivan urged. "I think…even if the mood is somber, it might be nice to get together with friends. Ismael's friends. We can hold our own service for him, maybe have a margarita as well…." He added, and Francis had to crack a sad smile. "I think he would like it if we all got together and made a little noise."

The Frenchman thought for a moment.

"That is not a bad idea. I have no plans this weekend—I will go ask Matthew and Alfred what they are doing." His face twisted just a little. "Matthew…may not wish to attend, but maybe this will be good for him. I will see what Ludwig and Gilbert are doing as well…they'll likely bring over an entire keg of beer, any excuse to drink….I will make something sweet, sneak a wine cask from my Papa's basement…."

"Oh, and one another thing," Ivan added sweetly before Francis could wander away. "Be sure to ask Kiku to come, too."

~*oOo*~

* * *

Maybe this would be a good thing. Help Mattie get closure. Still, it was with an air of reluctance that Alfred got ready for Ivan's dumb little shin-dig, Franklin meowing in protest when he didn't bother packing her in her carrier. God, how did she know?

"You know, technically she and Vodka are living in sin," he joked to Matthew as his twin quietly fixed his tie. "We oughta throw 'em a wedding or something when this stuff's...over with."

Matthew just threw him a dirty look, and Alfred's heart sank.

By the time they arrived at the Braginski residence, Katyusha had already excused herself for the night, with the excuse that she and Natalya were staying at a friend's house. But she left a note for Matthew, and while Alfred supposed it just said something along the lines of '_wishing you sincere condolences, blah-blah-blah,'_ it seemed to make the young man's violet eyes brighten considerably so, his hands begin quivering incessantly. If Matthew were not in mourning, he would have loved to have stood on tiptoe to read it.

Ivan greeted Alfred and Matthew cordially, respectfully, abstaining from giving Alfred his usual bear hug whenever he came to visit, much to Alfred's relief. He still had some use for his ribs.

It wasn't long before the apartment was full of people, and once everyone arrived, Ivan cleared his throat and proposed a toast.

"To Ismael," Ivan said softly, holding up his glass. "I…did not get to know him very well, and I am sad to say we…had a disagreement…" _Turned his face into pudding, more like,_ Alfred thought warily. "Before he passed away, but—" Ivan's voice caught, and he turned to stare at the ground, a shy and watery grin on his face, his eyes moist. "I am glad I got to meet him, with all of my good friends here." He cast the small circle of people around him a grateful, happy look, though his eyes were still quite bright, as if he were about to cry at any given moment.

"With any luck, he is in heaven right now, enjoying pina coladas with supermodels." Some people chuckled a little bit at that. Matthew even smiled just a little, eyes still downcast, red with unshed tears. "But we will not forget him, nor forgive the _evil, abhorrent_ people who would do this to him and his family. May they find justice, and little Maria get hers for the loss of her family." He toasted and everyone soberly mirrored him. After a few gulps of his drink, Ivan turned to Matthew, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"I am sorry, Matvey," the Russian said quietly, crossing the room to clasp Matthew's shoulder and pat it affectionately. "I know how much he must have meant to you."

Matthew managed a wan, watery smile.

"…thanks, Ivan," he said gratefully, leaning in for a brief man-hug.

Uncharacteristically still, Alfred soberly watched as Ivan wandered off to sit in a corner alone while others wandered into groups to chat. The Russian sank into an armchair and stared at his hands whilst Vodka nuzzled at them, probably wondering why his owner wouldn't scratch behind his ears.

Before he could stop himself, he had wandered over to Ivan's side, at a loss for words. He'd apologized to Ivan for his rude behavior when he'd seen him again at school at Ivan had generously waved it aside, but the two hadn't talked much since then, nor had the Russian continued haunting his home. It was certainly nice to get a vacation from him-and Kiku all too eagerly took the now vacant seat beside Alfred at his table-but it definitely left a considerable disquiet on Alfred's part. It would've been better if the Russian yelled at him and called him a couple of names, but instead he simply just avoided walking beside Alfred in the halls now, maybe talked to Francis every now and again if the young man approached him, but otherwise insisted on being alone.

_Doesn't Ivan have any other friends? _

But someone intent on going so far as to axe someone for him would probably be more consistent. More devilish. Not occasionally creepy, childlike and sweet. What did he say? _Thank you? Great party? Sorry I was half-convinced you were an ultra-psycho, chainsaw-wielding lunatic?_

"Hey, big guy." He smiled as Vodka gleefully jumped into his arms, and he affectionately patted him. "Er, nice…speech you gave."

"I am sorry, Alfred," Ivan said morosely. "I feel like I have made fool of myself."

Alfred didn't say anything. Ivan went on, sounding fretful: "All these people just…going away, it is very disarming," He shuddered as if someone had just slipped an ice cube down his back. "In Russia, such things did not happen so…so very _often_." A shaky laugh. "I have been thinking about it for past couple of days, Alfred, and I am starting to think there might be a connection here...behind Ismael's death and Arthur and Mr. Yao's disappearing. Ah, it is like scary story! I am afraid to know who will be next." He sounded so _scared_. "I never anticipated this would happen when I came here."

Kiku appeared behind his best friend, scowling at Ivan. "Al-chan, let's go. I do not want to stay long." The Asian had full intentions on denying Ivan's invitation, but Alfred had dragged him here.

The Russian's face betrayed no reaction at Kiku's appearance. His eyes were glazed over with some unreadable emotion as he looked up at the two of them, shoulders hunched in, unkempt silver-blond hair strands falling over a cheekbones that seemed more sharply protruded than usual.

"Maybe I bring bad luck with me wherever I go, da?"

Alfred swallowed heavily, instinct and sympathy starting to overshadow his prior disconcertment.

"Iv…"

"I was so angry," Ivan whispered, and Alfred half-wanted to run away then and there, as if a fish hook with favored fare were dangling above him. "When I saw him punch you, I just…" He shook his head. "Did not know what to do. I was scared, and I hurt him, and now he is dead and I will never get to apologize. Is not fair," he whimpered, looking up at Alfred with the largest, saddest eyes Alfred had ever seen.

Well, maybe not so. The look seemed dimly familiar. "Is just not fair, Alfred. Why would anyone do this? I beat Ismael because he beat you, but for someone to _kill_ him..."

"Hey there, man," Alfred muttered gently. "You did what you thought was right at the time. You couldn't have known. It's not your fault."

_Of course is not my fault. I'd do it again, and if I had more time, I would have tied his whore of a mother and horse of a father to the railroad tracks._

"Alfred..."

But the boy was not listening. He handed Vodka over to Kiku (a low blow, the shorter thought sourly as he looked pointedly away from the purring kitty) before approaching the Russian. _Not starting anything back up, just taking care of a buddy._ "C'mere, you big lug. Looks like someone could use a hug."

Ivan hid his bliss as Alfred gave him a squeeze, keen to make it brief and casual.

_Return to my arms where you belong, my love, return to my arms. _

He reluctantly let his arms took a quick, albeit reverent inhale of Alfred's scent before quickly stepping back, smiling widely and turning to the mutinous Asian glowering at him from a distance. Sensing the atmosphere, the Siberian hurriedly jumped out of Kiku's arms and zipped underneath the sofa.

"Would you care for something to drink, Kiku?" Ivan asked, picking up a flask of vodka. "You look terrible."

Kiku simply gave him a very rude hand signal. Frowning, ears burning in embarrassment Alfred just stepped forward, putting a cautionary hand on Kiku's shoulder. "Dude," he mumbled reprovingly. "I know this has been a real hard week on you, been tough on all of us, but he's really trying, man. Just give him a chance."

"I will have drink with you," Ivan offered, setting down the peach-flavored alcohol next to Kiku and heading back to the liquor table. "Just let me go back and get regular vodka…I like it better when it is not flavored."

He fetched another bottle, sat down at the table across from Kiku, and poured himself a generous amount of liquid. After a long pause, Kiku reluctantly obliged, still glaring at him.

"To Ismael." The slightest twitch at the corners of his mouth as he downed his beverage. "And to you, Kiku," he said consolingly, reaching across the table for Kiku's hand, only for the Asian to whip it back in disgust. Ivan apologetically retreated. "I know how difficult it must have been for police to question you like they did. But we all know," the Russian added, taking a sip of his drink and making a face, "You could never do such a thing."

_You could never, ever love Alfred the way I do, you selfish, evil thing, and I will be the death of you, make no mistake. _

Staring at Ivan with obvious loathing, Kiku downed his glass. Ivan wiped his mouth and refilled his own glass. "Care for another?" He clapped a hand to his forehead. "Oh, but you may want to take it easy for awhile. You look a little off."

"I am not 'off!'" Kiku snapped, snatching up the peach vodka. Ivan raised an eyebrow.

"Is this a challenge?" he asked mildly. "Because if it is, you really must go easy on me. I am novice drinker. Although," he sized Kiku up, smirking just a little. "You ARE very small, so I guess alcohol would catch up with you quickly, da?"

"Take another shot," Kiku snapped, refilling his glass. "And I will have another."

"Very well. To you, Kiku, for fortitude." The two drank, and Alfred turned to Matthew with a disapproving huff. "C'mon, you guys, we're supposed to be...y'know, all...uh..." He supposed the correct answer was 'sad and stuff,' but he'd more than enough of sadness these past two weeks. "Not drinking." He blinked a little at his own words. Hell, since when was he the responsible one?

His brother shrugged.

"Aw, I think Ismael wouldn't mind us getting a little rowdy," he said cheerfully, and Alfred resisted the urge to check his normally levelheaded twin for a fever. At least he was smiling again, which immediately put Alfred at ease, even as Kiku and Ivan downed another shot. "He'd just be mad that he was missing out on the fun..." Matthew shook his head a little as if to clear a fog out of it, eyes wistful. "I think I'll eat some ice cream...maybe smoke one of the cigars Francis brought on the porch. Care to join me, Al?"

Alfred wrinkled his nose. It was wonderful, seeing Mattie feeling a little better-he certainly looked more cheerful than he had in days-but Alfred wasn't in the mood to drink, and didn't want to risk his athletic health by smoking. He wasn't even in the mood to binge out on sweets. Well, beyond three or four pieces of that cake Katyusha made, anyway. "Nah. I think I'm just going to chill and watch TV for awhile. Ismael would be happiest if he knew I was rotting my brain out."

Matthew snorted but squeezed Alfred's arm all the same before he wandered over to the dessert bar and started making himself a maple syrup sundae. Alfred watched Gilbert gleefully join in the drinking contest, already a little drunk.

"Hey Al! Wanna-_hic_-join us?"

"I see pretty lights," Ivan sang, kicking his legs back and forth in his seat. "And pretty flowers, pretty horses, pretty, pretty angel..." He hiccuped, accidentally spilling his drink all of himself.

"Ha! I think someone can't hold their liquor!" Kiku exclaimed triumphantly. Alfred couldn't hide a grin-he knew for a fact that Kiku held the revered title of undisputed sake master amongst his cousins. Poor Ivan was in for a bad headache come tomorrow if he kept this up.

"Uh, no thanks, guys." If it were any other event besides Isamel's We're-sorry-you-burned-to-death party. "It's his first time, so don't let him have too much, okay?" Lightweight.

He headed over to the sofa and turned on the television, Vodka (the cat) diving happily into his lap.

If Alfred had asked for a drink, he might of asked for some vodka out of Ivan's bottle. And he might have wondered why Ivan would have been extremely reluctant to give him any.

Why?

Because Ivan's vodka bottle was filled with nothing but water, which was certainly not the case for a swaying, but still stoic Kiku.

~*oOo*~

* * *

By two a.m, the party seemed at last in decline. Ludwig had carried his snoring younger brother out the door, but not before admitting to a crush he had on Art teacher Mr. Vargas and breaking down in tears. Around midnight, Alfred had sent his irate parents a text message saying that he and his brother were staying over at Ivan's (Matthew got a little tipsy and Alfred was tired and admittedly a little sugar high from polishing off the lion's share of Katyusha's cake). They promised chores were waiting for them come tomorrow for breaking curfew, but he didn't mind.

For the first time in a long while, Alfred felt at ease enough to sleep soundly. Lately the nightmares pursuing his sleep had only increased, and gotten even uglier, with red skies melting into black as a horrible, iron tight, pressure fell on him, crushing him even as a dying Alfred cried under the weight of the suffocating mantle, begging for freedom. It had gotten so bad that he'd begun waking up in the morning in a cold sweat, yelling out once or twice. Matthew, being the psychologist-in-training he was, suggested that the pressure might be reflective on some bad, personal experience or a fear of enclosed spaces. Stress, maybe.

But he wasn't very overworked, nor could he recall the slightest hint of a memory bad enough to induce these dark dreams. Well, besides Ismael's confirmed murder. Lately, the Cuban boy had joined the party of faces that paraded through his thoughts at night, but the dreams were haunting him even before then. And he wasn't claustrophobic. Preferred wide open space, but a closet wasn't enough to make him nervous.

The party was an excellent idea, if only to see Ivan snoozing at the table, Kiku the triumphant standing atop it and beating his chest in victory before nearly tumbling off. While what had happened to Ismael and his family was a tragedy-a tremendous one-being here, surrounded by friends helped his heart be at ease. Ivan was simply a normal, awkward and weird human being who could drink too much and stumble off to bed singing weird ditties in Russian. Kiku was...well, regardless of what he was now, he was Alfred's childhood buddy, his closest beside Mattie. And everyone else was just there, maybe a little sad, but young and determined and fresh and alive and full of cake and booze. It had been a good night.

Francis decided to take Katyusha's vacant bed, and Alfred wondered where Natalya's room was. He had politely declined Ivan's request that he use his bed and insisted on balling up on the sofa, Mattie taking the opposite end and Kiku taking the floor, considering that was where he'd collapsed.

"Al-chan….Al-chan…yer pretty kawaii…" The young man slurred, giggling under the blanket Alfred had thrown on him. "Kawaii, kawaii, you know, I think…y'know what I…I think…Alfred?"

"I don't know. What do you think, Kiku?" Alfred asked coyly, propping himself up on his elbow and smirking at the shorter boy from the couch. Kiku laughed, face flushed.

"You're suh funny, Alfred, suh sunny...be shiny! Shiny happy good times!"

"I think this one's pretty long gone," Alfred said with a yawn, heavy eyelids flickering considerably. God, did he want to sleep, and badly. Matthew opened an eye.

"If you kick me during the night, 'Al-chan,' I'm knocking you off and you can squash Kiku."

"I love ya too, bro. Good to have you back."

"Mmmph. What's going on between you and him, anyhow?"

Alfred uncomfortably shifted around underneath his quilt. "I...I dunno. I mean, I really like Elizaveta, Mattie. And I like Kiku, as in, he's my pal, my amigo, my soul sister and all that jazz. We..." He shook his head. "Wait. I never even told you that we..." He trailed off, too embarrassed to continue.

Matthew whistled. "Wow. You did the horizontal hello?"

"The what?"

"Never mind. I'd totally know if you did...you have the exact opposite of a poker face, Al. You kissed him, right?"

"I guess."

"You don't 'guess' these things, unless you're seriously wasted, Alfred."

"Fine. Yes. I did."

"You kissed a boy, did you like it...?"

"Stop singing," Alfred snapped. "It was fine. Not about to go marching in the mustache parade," He added shortly, face hot. "Just a kiss. I don't feel...very tingly or bubbly when I do it. It's just kind of nice and sweet. Not sure if it's gonna go anywhere. I mean, I'm fine as is."

"Well, at least you're an open-minded guy," Matthew sighed, stretching awkwardly. "Oog. Al, you sure you don't wanna go sleep with Ivan? You've done it before."

"You go sleep with Ivan." Ivan may not be the persona chasing him through the forest in the dead of night, but remembering his...off dreams from last time he stayed over didn't leave Alfred keen to do it again.

"I'm fine, thanks. Do _not_ envy him. He got awfully tipsy pretty early on, didn't he?"

"I guess. What about you and Katyusha?"

"What do you mean, what about me and Katyusha?"

"What'd she say in her note to you?"

"That you're a colossal douchebag and should go to sleep now. Francis, Ivan, Kiku and I are trying to get some shut-eye, here."

"Yeah, like she'd ever say that." Alfred's smile flashed wicked and pearly white as Kiku mumbled something in Japanese. "Does she liiiiiike you?"

"Good night, Alfred."

* * *

An hour later, it was three in the morning and the apartment was completely still. Matthew and Alfred had at last stopped pinching and punching and muffling snorts and giggles from the couch and were now dozing, both greedily drinking in the dreamless sleep that had eluded them for a large number of days. Kiku lay in the sleeping bag Ivan had gotten out, out like a light, likewise Francis, who was tucked away in Katyusha's room, drooling slightly on her pillow.

And Ivan...

...was fully awake. He'd humiliated himself for the sake of a performance before, would likely be mocked and ridiculed for it later on, but not by Kiku. After drinking several shots of water, he'd babbled the most absurd nonsense that came to his head, made a good show of pretending that he was pretending to be sober, took a nap and listened to the conversation about him before walking in loopy circles to his bed. There, he waited, heart tight with anticipation.

Around half-past three, his door slowly slid open with a quiet creak, and then there was silence. Then, after dressing and packing his equipment, he stepped out again, been careful to step only on the plush carpeting to muffle his footsteps, cringing when he heard the slightest of creaking noises anyhow.

Vodka looked up when Ivan came into the living room, perched comfortably on Alfred's back. How could his angel sleep in such a strange position, he'd never know. Grinning, he quietly hefted Kiku over his shoulder, bag, and all (so much like a worm, a worm, how suitable, a worm) before he headed to the door, taking immaculate care to do so silently and without letting cold air drift over the sleeping twins.

As he descended the steps, the nipping February wind playing at dark and beige hair, Kiku began to stir, grunting unhappily. More likely than not he was still tipsy from all the alcohol he consumed, which only worked in Ivan's favor.

"Whaddaya doing? Where are we going?"

"Shh," Ivan muttered, his cold, cold eyes fixed ahead of him, not flickering to Kiku's direction. "If you wake anyone…" He didn't bother to finish.

This was a bad, reckless move on his part. He knew it. If Kiku disappeared in the middle of the night, the police would immediately be suspicious. Feigning ignorance and claiming that the young man wandered off alone probably wouldn't work out so well; he had been at a party in memory of a departed classmate, who'd just died under mysterious circumstances. Maybe Ivan could use that to his favor, mimic Kiku's handwriting and make it seem like the young man was trying to elude the law...but invariably the spotlight would be flashed on the occupants of the apartment: Francis, Matthew, himself, and his beloved. One of whom was connected to two missing persons in their school and one missing person in a school not very far away.

He paused, feeling ill. Last chance. Kiku was kicking feebly, hopelessly, and he could return him to the floor before anyone noticed a thing.

_I can't let you live. You tried to take my Alfred away from me. I have no choice._

But he hadn't thought this one out properly through. This was dangerous, and he could potentially be putting his sweet one in jeopardy if he went along this.

He could get another opportunity. Could he? When would Kiku ever be this close and vulnerable to himself again?

Before he could stop himself, Ivan let out a howl of frustration, tortured.

~*oOo*~

Matthew heard a noise from outside and stirred, groaning.

"What was that?" he mumbled, blindly fumbling for his glasses (Why? It's dark in here) before attempting to rouse his sibling. "Alfred? Alfred?"

But his brother just pushed his hand away, rolled onto his side and continued to snooze, Vodka sleepily crawling to a new spot as not to be squashed underneath Alfred and went back to sleep, purring contently. Oh, lord. Smiling, he glanced down to see how Kiku was doing, only to find to his surprise that the boy was gone, sleeping bag and all. Was he in the bathroom?

He waited, but Kiku did not appear; curious, he ventured to the bathroom, only to find it dark and unoccupied. Had Kiku stumbled off to sleep in Ivan's bed? Seemed highly unlikely, but he peeked inside anyhow, only to discover the bed empty.

_Huh._

Bewildered, he leaned back and forth on his feet, unsure as to what to do. He thought he heard a noise outside, so he headed over to the window, making out two shadowy figures underneath the weak yellow glow of the parking lot lamplight.

Where were Kiku and Ivan going, this time of night? Was Ivan going to drive Kiku home or something? That probably wasn't the best idea, considering just how angry Mrs. Honda would be if she knew her underage son were drunk...

Dispiritedly considering his warm sleeping space, Matthew slowly trudged to the door, sighing. Well, he probably wouldn't catch them in time, but if Ivan were going for a drive, Matthew thought he might like to go with him. It had been a long few days and he had a lot to think about. Besides, while he didn't mind his present company, it would be nice if they weren't snoring.

* * *

What did he do? What did he do?

Ivan's mind spun as he carried Kiku out underneath the silent stars, feeling their cold gaze press into his back on the way to his car. He couldn't let the filth get away now, but driving all the way to his cabin and back would take a couple of hours, at least eight. They'd wonder where he'd been. Where Kiku had disappeared to. They'd ask questions. Then, there was the killing itself, and the beautiful mechanisms of Kiku's demise were whispering sweetly in his ears, making him long for his pipe and hacksaw.

He paused before his red vehicle, closing his eyes and forcing himself to count to ten as Kiku bumbled inanely underneath his arm. He didn't want to slaughter Kiku while the boy was still high on liquor, still buzzed with the good news of life. No, he wanted him sober, sober and cold when he received the punishment for touching what Ivan so fiercely protected and adored. While the idea of Kiku screeching in mortal agony for several hours was very appealing, before the end of it he would be begging for death, and Ivan by no means wanted to be merciful. Better not to draw it out too long, so that when Kiku died, it was whilst he still clung to life and practically died with terror when Ivan cut into him. Or put the bleeding boy in a box and buried him underneath the frozen ground as he still wheezed for air. Yes, he would bury him alive. Ivan couldn't imagine something else more horrible, considering his stepfather had done the same to him, enclosed him a cold tomb even as he cried for mercy, mercy and air.

But his will to live pushed him to break free, to dig his way back up into life. Kiku hardly looked like he had such spirit inside him, but he would have to pile stones atop his casket.

_They'll wonder where you are_, pleaded the last remaining strands of Ivan's sanity as he pulled out a pair of handcuffs from the trunk, shackling the woozy Asian. _They'll be suspicious when you return without him. The police will connect the dots and they will_ know.

Tough deal, as Alfred would have said.

"You...you can't..." Kiku stammered, hiccuping and writhing helplessly in his bag, letting out a confused moan.

"Oh, I can," Ivan breathed in his ear, seizing him by the hair and hold him aloft, the sleeping bag sliding off his struggling body as the young boy let out a cry of pain. "And I will destroy you, you ugly mongrel, filthy son of a bitch. Like Arthur, like Yao, like Ismael, only I intend to be much, much less kind to you."

"Ivan?"

The Russian froze, huge smile not quite falling, but his eyes widening considerably as they turned to face Alfred's brother, who stood near the apartment entrance, gawking at him, looking lost for words. "Matvey?"

Kiku slid out of his grip the way a bar of soap will when you squeeze it hard enough. Staggered, not wearing a jacket and shivering considerably, Matthew cautiously approached, staring at Kiku's whimpering form, bug-eyed.

"Ivan, what in the world are you doing to him? Why is Kiku..."

"I wanted to play practical joke on him," Ivan said lowly, still radiating in shock. "Make him think he is...in trouble?" Why did that come out sounding like a question? He couldn't blame Matthew for staring at him the way he did, like he was crazy. "I wanted to...take him on drive around the neighborhood..."

"Matthew-san...Matthew-san..." Kiku groaned, fighting his way past the opaque barrier the drink had put around his thoughts. "Please help, please help me..."

"Ivan?" Matthew asked, his voice high and nervous, and Ivan's eyes followed the way Matthew took a step or two back, like of a snow leopard's following their prey. "Let's...let's get this guy inside, okay? He doesn't look so good, and..."

"But of course, Matvey," Ivan said charmingly, picking up Kiku from the ground and grunting a little. "Will you help me carry him back in? I apologize."

Matthew didn't move for a moment.

"Ivan, where were you going to take him?"

"Just around," Ivan said sweetly, more sharply than he'd anticipated. "The block, I mean. I wanted to make him think he'd been...arrested, so I pull out old handcuffs and..."

He shook his head.

"Would you mind helping me?"

His hand casually slid into his pocket as Matthew took Kiku's other arm, wondering why on earth the normally considerably gentle Ivan Braginski had been positively seething at Kiku with that absolutely mean, almost positively vicious smile on his face. It'd been...for lack of better words, _terrifying_.

Ivan drew out something from his coat that glinted dully under the few working streetlamps, but poor Matthew never saw it coming.

* * *

His cell phone hummed beside him, and Alfred cussed into his pillow, rolling again to grab it and prepared to turn it off. But to his surprise the space where Matthew was sleeping was gone, and Kiku was gone as well. Nonplussed, he looked at his phone. Did everyone go out for early morning pancakes without him? Because if they did he was going to be so pissed.

Text message from: Mattie

_Alfred? Alfred, wake up._

Still dazed, he nonetheless replied:

_Matthew? What, are ya texting me from inside the bathroom or something?_

_Alfred, I'm outside. Kiku ODed_.

Alfred's heart nearly stopped beating.

_what_

_Ivan got up and found him collapsed outside. We're taking him to the hospital, stat. You should come too, in case_...

A second later found Alfred slamming the door shut behind him, racing down the steps.

~*oOo*~

Ivan exhaled in relief as Alfred raced to him, turning white at the sight of not one but_ two_ bodies at the Russian's feet. _The hell?! Mattie!_

"Alfred! Thank God!" he exclaimed. "We have to hurry and leave now...he's barely breathing...and Matthew fainted!" he stammered as Alfred turned an incredulous face to him. "I don't know what happened to him-he just-"

**"ALFRED!" **

Alfred jumped about a foot in the air, staring as his supposedly near-dead best friend started shrieking from where he lay on the ground.

**_"ALFRED, RUN FOR YOUR LIFE! _HE _DID THIS TO MATTHEW, I SAW HIM—HE WANTS YOU, TOO!" _**

"He is very drunk, I think," Ivan murmured, with barely moving, very dry lips. "Shall you and I take him and Mattie home, _zaichik?"_

_"ALFRED! GET OUT OF HERE! GO!"_ Kiku screamed, tears rolling down his face. "RUN! ALFRED, PLEASE, RUN, HE KILLED ISMAEL—I HEARD HIM SAY IT HIMSELF! RUN! HIDE!"

_Oh, God._

"He is speaking madness!" Ivan cried, holding out his arms to Alfred imploringly. "I would never, ever hurt anyone, Alfred—you know your Vanya better than that, right?" His voice developed a low, near hypnotic throb as he held his hand out to the stunned American, a purr that was more a command than a request:

"Come, Alfred, trust me."

"RUN!" Kiku screamed, sobbed. "**_ALFRED, RUN! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?! HE IS GOING TO KILL YOU!"_**

And without thinking about it, Alfred seized his brother from the armpits, hoisted him into his arms, and ran. He heard Ivan crying out something behind him, but didn't pause to listen, though panic bit into him when he realized that Kiku was still keeled over on the ground where the Russian was. Whimpering in indecision, for split second he shuffled back and forth like a crab, head pounding.

_Kiku, Matthew, Kiku, Matthew—!_ He was strong, but he could hardly do more than trudge across the parking lot with both bodies, and he had to get to safety first. Get someone to help. _I'm so sorry. So sorry. I'll come back for you._

Alfred seized the cold bar of the door and tugged, but it wouldn't open. "C'mon, OPEN UP! Please! Open up, open up, open up!"

Christ. He fell back, shoved on the door with all of his might as if he could still coax it open. It was after hours and only residents had keys. He fell back, seeing Ivan's car was already zipping across the parking lot towards him-

"Come onnnnn!" He begged Mattie, roughly patting and then slapping his face. "WAKE UP, MATTIE! Wake up, wake up, wake up!"

But Matthew did not move. A new type of fear blossomed in him; what had Ivan done to him? But Ivan was clamoring out of the car now, crying his name:

_Oh, hell. _

With a whimper of terror, eyes on the road adjacent to the buildings, Alfred _ran_, running faster than he'd ever ran in his life, even with Matthew's head bobbing against his shoulder and his weight on Alfred's back.

A dim glow began to illuminate the darkness in front of him, and Alfred glanced back in spite of himself, blue eyes dilating when he saw a familiar vehicle roaring towards him, gaining on him-

**_Help, help, help, help. _**

Alfred cried out in desperation, willing to see another car's headlights appear in the darkness or better yet, flashing blue and red lights—but none came. He tripped over a crack in the sidewalk, his clumsiness and Matthew's extra weight sending the two falling with a loud THUD, liberally scraping both his palms and his knees before he dragged out his cell phone, sobbing wildly. He immediately dialed 9-1-1, seeing his shadow grow darker beneath him as he was enveloped in glaring headlights, the red car screeching to a stop-

"Help," he implored, tears sliding thick and fast down his face. "Help, _please_, the man who—"

He heard a door slam and Alfred's voice became caught with terror, a cool, stern voice asking him to continue on the phone line. But before he could draw breath, a hand ripped away his cell and sent it flying, and it was in abject horror Alfred watched the device fly underneath the pale yellow glow of a streetlamp, screen flashing before it plummeted to earth, shattering against the concrete.

"Noooo!"

And in a flash, Ivan was on him, violet eyes wide and mad in the darkness as the Russian tackled him, seizing him by the forearms and pinning him against the ground. His hand flew against Alfred's screaming mouth, ignoring the boy's desperate clawing and kicking for freedom, tears gleaming on his face.

Something _sharp_ and _hot_ and _painful_ plunged into his arm and Alfred's struggles increased tenfold, the way a stock animal's might when it senses its impending doom.

"Shh," Ivan whispered soothingly in his ear, his hands twisting harshly into Alfred's shirt as the thrashing boy screamed behind his gag, teeth biting down in Ivan's palm and drawing the hot, metallic tang of blood in his mouth. "Shhh, my little sun. It will be fine. You're safe now. Stop struggling, dearest," The shadow breathed in his ears, holding on so tightly, so tenderly as Alfred continued to writhe and kick, despair gleaming in the lidding blue eyes as the sedative raced through his system. "It only makes me love you more."

In a matter of seconds, Alfred's flailing feet began to slow their kicking against Ivan's torso, and a few seconds later the boy lay limp, his teeth slowly releasing their death grip in Ivan's hand. Nice and limp and quiet and compliant.

"Mine," Ivan hummed, scooping Alfred up as easily as he would a four year old, planting a kiss on the silent boy's cheek. "Mine, mine, you're back where you belong, my love, so don't cry, don't cry, don't cry." A warm pink tongue languidly slid up Alfred's face, lapping at any stray tears.

Ignoring the ragged bite wound on his hand, Ivan carried Alfred to the backseat, humming as he slipped a thick quilt around him, slowly laying him down with a loving touch at Alfred's temple, smoothing his hair away as he set a pillow behind his head. Then, after closing the door shut behind him, he briskly trotted to the edge of the road and picked up Matthew, who groaned slightly as Ivan carried him to the front seat but did not stir. His face fell just a little. Poor, poor Matthew. Why did he have to go sticking his nose where it did not belong? Now Ivan had no choice but to take him with him. What had to be done wouldn't make his Alfred happy in the slightest, but what else could he do?

"I am sorry, Matvey," Ivan said quietly, before slamming the door shut, feeling the satisfying roar of the engine as he floored the accelerator, making a beeline for the apartment parking lot. Kiku would be thrown into the trunk, and with any luck there would be enough air to keep him alive during the drive. The young man had a good, hard punishment awaiting him for trying to tempt his angel, and Ivan was already salivating with thoughts of the earth drinking up Kiku's blood.

But that could wait. He had a few things to pick up if he wanted his darling one to feel at home.

His passengers were very quiet on their way up North, not questioning Ivan's choice of music, which was primarily Tchaikovsky, interspersed with the occasional low lullaby.

* * *

**~*oOo*~**

***Swoons***

**Okay. So I don't update very often. Sue me. But I wanted to have something ready for St. V Day, so here's your valentine! :) I hope everyone enjoyed.**

**Ivan acts so well, he oughta go for Broadway. But I think he's a little…preoccupied as of right now.**

**Alfred's like the Princess Peach in a lot of my work...well, write what you know.  
**

**Poor, poor Alfred, Matthew, and Kiku. I'm something of a sadist, aren't I? Anyhow, if you guys are still interested in this story, please review, and I will love you like my firstborn. ^_^ Literally, I will track you down and hug you. **

**Next Chapter: Matryoshka  
**


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